


The Serpent and the Lion

by louiseparker



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Anal Sex, Angst, Bisexuality, Blow Jobs, Coming Out, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gay, Gay Panic, Gryffindor, Gryffindor Harry Styles, Harry Potter - Freeform, Harry Styles - Freeform, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hufflepuff, Hurt/Comfort, Liam Payne - Freeform, Louis Tomlinson - Freeform, M/M, Mutual Pining, Niall Horan - Freeform, Pining, Ravenclaw, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Slytherin, Slytherin Louis Tomlinson, Smut, Zayn Malik - Freeform, one direction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:28:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 89,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21722245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louiseparker/pseuds/louiseparker
Summary: Seventh year Hogwarts AU in which Harry Styles is an asshole Gryffindor jock, Louis is just trying to get through the year, and Liam, Zayn, and Niall rarely ever know what the hell is going on.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Louis Tomlinson & Original Female Character(s), Niall Horan/Zayn Malik/Liam Payne/Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne
Comments: 56
Kudos: 185





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Even if a snake is not poisonous, it should pretend to be venomous."

•◈•

There is very little in the world that Louis loves more than the smell of freshly trimmed grass on the pitch.

With a deep breath, he takes in the wide expanse of gorgeous green field, broom in hand, and realizes how lucky he really is to be standing here.

Here, in his final year at Hogwarts, Louis can recall exactly how he felt the first time he stood on these grounds. A wide-eyed boy who couldn’t even begin to comprehend what he was in for. For an incredibly long time, Louis thought the concept of magic, and a school for _wizards_ was all part of an elaborate joke, played on him. 

He remembers receiving the very first letter, with its crimson wax seal, addressed to him from _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._ Perplexed, he read its contents, and crumpled it immediately in white-hot rage. What idiot thought he would believe _this_ rubbish? He tossed in the bin, and dismissed it as a prank from one of his classmates. 

Louis gave no more thought to the letter, until three days later, when he found another crisp envelope perfectly placed on the mat by his front door. Yet again, addressed from this _Hogwarts_ place _._ He rolled his eyes, wondering why anyone would be so dedicated as to continue on with the same foolish joke, and it found its way into the bin. 

The weeks after were quite hellish, as Louis began to find letters in places a letter should not be. In the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, under his pillow, in the refrigerator under the _milk_. Inside his guitar case? A letter. In his school bag? Another _bloody_ letter! Each one only made him angrier, but he was determined not to let anyone get the best of him by blowing up over some joke. (Louis prided himself on his stubbornness.) 

No, Louis was never quite convinced, not until a strange woman in a hideous brown suit and wildly unfashionable woolly hat came knocking at his door all the way in Doncaster. 

They were sat on his couch, in his perfectly normal living room, having a perfectly _abnormal_ conversation.

_"You've always believed yourself to a bit different, haven't you?" She asked knowingly, her eyes soft and sweet._

_“Well, yes, but this – this is impossible!” Louis sputtered, gawking at the woman. “How can you say all this with a straight face? Did somebody put you up to this?”_

_“Have you ever been able to do things, Louis? Things you could never quite explain, that you’ve never shared with anyone for fear of being called mad?”_

_Louis closes his gaping mouth, and recalls last month; he wanted to shut the door of his bedroom, but didn’t want to move from his desk, and suddenly it just... happened._

_The door slammed shut, and he hadn't moved a single inch. Slack-jawed and bewildered, Louis had attributed it to the wind blowing through his open window, a coincidental accident. Though, some small part of him knew... He'd done it. Somehow, some way, he had shut the door... With his mind._

_Louis swallowed, “Y-yes.”_

_"I'm here to inform you that you aren't mad, Louis, you're special. In many marvelous ways." The woman's eyes seemed to sparkle, her smile spreading warmly. "Hogwarts is a wonderful place that will allow you to flourish. You are capable of great magic."_

_And there is was, one word that changed Louis's life from the moment he heard it. Even the way the strange woman said the word seemed to have traces of wonder strung in it, like the air was suddenly charged with some dream-like power he didn't quite understand._

_"Magic?" Louis clarified, his eyes wide as the cartoons character's from his telly. "I can do magic? You really mean it?"_

_The woman merely smiled, and left one final letter in his trembling hands. Louis stared at the now-familiar wax seal with widened eyes and a thundering heart. “Enclosed is a list of all necessary books and equipment. The Hogwarts Express will be waiting at King’s Cross Station, platform 9¾. Term begins on 1st September_ _._ _I look forward to seeing you then, Mr. Tomlinson.”_

 _From his doorway, the woman gave one final wave, and lit a roaring fire in the once-empty fireplace from where she stood. With a wink and a sly smile, she was gone. Louis’ jaw nearly fell to the ground._

Relaying this experience to his mother, and convincing her that this school really existed, took the remainder of the summer. 

Louis later learned that his mother and sisters were, what wizards apparently called, "muggles.” And he was a “ _Muggle-born_.” Louis had obviously never heard this term in his life, but he never liked the sound of it. It seemed like an offense from the beginning. 

He remembers his first stroll down Diagon Alley. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen. He stopped first at Honeydukes, (where he consumed _way_ too many Fudge Flies,) before picking up his schoolbooks from Flourish and Blotts. His heart skipped several beats as he read some of the titles he needed for his first year: _A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration, Defensive Magical Theory, Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed, A History of Magic!_

It was thrilling for Louis, who never much cared for the subjects in school back home. Now he knew why, look at what he was missing out on!

Above all, acquiring his wand was his favorite activity of the day. Twelve and a half inches, made of Rosewood, with a dragon heartstring core. Holding it in his hand, feeling the first pinpricks of magic darting up his spine – Louis couldn’t help but grin so wide he thought his face was going split in two. 

Then he was finally at Hogwarts, and the talking hat proudly proclaimed he was a _Slytherin!_ Whatever _that_ meant!

He joined his new Slytherin brothers and sisters, some friendly, and others... not so much. He made friends with a lad called Liam almost immediately, bonding over their love for football and chips. He explained that if Louis liked sports, he would love something called _Quidditch._ There were so many strange, new terms in so little time, but Louis did his best to keep up. 

By some grand stroke of fate, he and Liam ended up as assigned roommates, and the rest was history. They spent their entire first night together going over Quidditch highlights and eating the junk comfort food that Louis’s mother had packed in his bag. 

Now, nearly seven years later, Louis stands on the pitch with confidence, chest puffed out with indisputable pride. The smell of grass in his nose, and the sweet autumn breeze in his hair. 

The start of a new day, of new beginnings, of — 

_Whizz!_

Louis drops to the ground just as a Bludger passes over him, sailing mere inches above his head. 

“ _Oi_ , Antony, are you trying to take me head off?” Louis calls. A wide grin spreads across his face. “That is what I’m _talking about!_ Where was that action last term? Good work, lad!” 

Antony, a fifth-year, waves gleefully from across the field; it brings warmth to Louis's heart to see him practicing. He’d gone out for Beater last term, but didn’t quite make the cut. Beaters must be broad, muscled players, and Antony hadn’t quite put on the muscle required to send those Bludgers across the field. However, it was evident he’d put in the work over summer break, as his biceps were noticeably larger. 

Louis tips his head back. The sun kisses his skin gently, and he basks in the rare light while the weather is still in his favor. It’s an absolutely _brilliant_ day for Quidditch trials, he couldn't have crafted a more perfect moment if he tried. 

After years of brutal bruises, one broken arm, and countless hours on the pitch, Louis was finally _Captain_. He’d been making the team since he was a first year, (he was always a natural, if he did say so himself,) and he watched with starry eyes and admiration towards his teammates as they helped shaped him into the player he was today. The captain during Louis's fifth year, Finnegan Byrne, went on to play for the Ballycastle Bats! Louis gets a chill down his spine just imagining stepping onto a professional Quidditch pitch.

Today, however, was not that day. Today Louis had the chance to hand-select his very own team. The best of the best, to make certain that Slytherin would win the Quidditch Cup this year. His last year to proudly wear the emerald and silver colours on his robes, to represent everything he cared for. 

He takes in a deep breath. It's a great turnout, what looked like thirty or so Slytherin students chatting up amongst themselves and catching up from summer holiday. He notes that there are a few eager, fresh faces who look like first years, and wonders how he was ever that young. Feels like a lifetime ago, now. 

“Right, then!” Louis shouts over the clamoring. After a moment, the voices quiet and all heads turn in his direction, and a uneasy lurch turns his gut. 

_Keep cool, Louis. Confidence. You’re in_ _charge._ _You’ve earned this._

“Welcome, everybody. For those of you who don’t know, I’m Louis Tomlinson. I’m a seventh year, and I will be your captain for this season.” This statement is met with a light smattering of applause, and Louis waves it away with a chuckle, his cheeks warming. 

“Oi, there’s no need for all that. It’s nice to see familiar faces, as well as some new ones. I did want to begin today by mentioning that just because you made the team last year, will _not_ mean you are guaranteed to make the team this year. Am I clear?” 

The prospectives all nod their heads in understanding, and Louis nods contentedly. Studying the grouping of people before him, Louis can sense the tension sliding off his shoulders. Most of these people were his friends, and if there was anything he knew, it was Quidditch. 

“Right, with all that serious rubbish out of the way, we can begin! You all look like you're bricking it, so do yourselves a favor and shake it out. Let's just have a bit of fun, yeah?" The laugh he gets from his fellow Slytherins seems to boost the mood, some of the nervous weight shifting from their faces. Louis smiles. "I want to get started with a few basic drills, just to get a sense of-" 

“ _Hey!”_

Louis cringes at the sound. The voice makes his skin crawl, and his stomach fills with angry heat. He turns to meet the one face he doesn't care to see, not on this perfect day, _his_ perfect day. 

Louis turns around with a sigh, maintaining composure.

“What can I do for you, Styles?”

The captain of Gryffindor’s Quidditch team saunters over, in the horribly pretentious way that he does, and sneers down at Louis. 

“Gryffindor has the pitch reserved, today.” 

Louis snorts. “That’s not true at all.”

“It is.” He’s all too pleased as he hands Louis a folded piece of paper from within his robes. “Got a note. Signed by _McGonagall_ , as you’ll see at the bottom.” 

Louis snatches the paper, giving Harry as vicious a glare as he can possibly muster.

 **_Due to a scheduling miscommunication on behalf of the administration, it has come to my attention that both Gryffindor and Slytherin teams are scheduled for time on the Quidditch pitch on Saturday morning. As the Gryffindor’s claim to the field came first, Slytherin House may have the pitch from dawn on Sunday-_ **

Louis mutters a curse under his breath. Totally unnecessary, getting the document signed by the Headmaster. Louis knows it was only to shove in his face how much she’ll let slide for Styles and his team, and the Gryffindors in general. Her completely unabashed bias towards these airheaded buffoons made Louis furious. _Scheduling miscommunication._ It’s bullshit, and he knows it. Louis reserved the pitch on the very first day of term, which meant there was _no_ possible way that there could've been a mishap. 

"You could always use the practice pitch, if you'd like," Harry coos, the sneer on his face ugly and practiced.

"Eat shit, Styles." Louis attempts to shove the page back in Harry's direction, and the Gryffindor boy holds his hands back. 

"Oh, you keep that. Figured you might want it to cry about later."

Quick as a whip, Louis draws his wand from his robes, and holds the letter up with his free hand. " _Incendio."_

The page goes up in a rapid column of bright orange flames, the ashes fluttering away on the wind. Even standing as close to the flame as Harry is, he doesn't flinch. He only snickers.

"Cute. Now get off my pitch."

Louis narrows his eyes in vexation, the balled-up fists by his side beginning to ache with how hard he's clenching them. 

“You heard him, lads,” Louis calls over his shoulder, though his eyes never leave Harry's. There are collective groans from the group. “I know, I know. Don't worry, we’ll reconvene this time tomorrow.” 

Louis recovers his broom from the ground, shoving past Styles and his slimy, bumbling pack of idiot Gryffindors on the way. 

•◈•

“So bloody typical!” Louis exclaims, slamming his bag on the table.

The Slytherin common room is mostly empty, as per usual, but the few students around look up with concern. Louis puts his hands up in defense as an apology for shattering the peace.

It was normally this way; peaceful, but never too quiet. Louis liked the silent company of someone else while he studied. He couldn’t imagine what the Gryffindor common room must be like, with all that noise and barbaric activity. You probably couldn’t even take nap there without having a willy drawn on your forehead. 

“Whoa, whoa, what’s happening?” Liam is among the few who startle at Louis's volume, and looks up from his book. He’s sat at the small circular table near the fireplace, notes scattered all around him. “What’s got your knickers in a twist, Lou?” 

Louis groans, collapsing onto a black leather couch, his weight sinking into it. “My first day as captain, and you’ll never believe who came along to piss on my parade.” 

“Who?” 

“ _Harry bloody Styles_.” 

"What?" Liam's brows shoot up. "What was he even doing there?” 

“Apparently he's crawled so far up McGonagall’s arse that she agreed to give the Gryffindors the pitch today.” 

“I thought you had the pitch reserved a week ago?” 

“I _did._ It was a ‘scheduling miscommunication.’ My _arse_. As if the administration ever makes a mistake.” Louis mumbles, slouching further into his seat. “It was a perfect fucking day for trials, too. Great turnout.” 

“I’m sure no one will think any less of you for having to reschedule tryouts. It was out of your control,” Liam states calmly, in the same unquestionable, soothing tone he always takes when Louis gets panicky. 

Louis sits up to look Liam squarely in the eye. “I don’t give a damn about having to reschedule, Liam. It’s that idiot Styles that made me look like I didn’t know what I was doing. He’s always been out to get me, Liam. Big dumb bloke can never just let me live in peace. Today is a perfect example of that! I’m on the pitch minding my own, and takes sick pleasure in watching me fail. He loves to see it.” 

“Louis. You didn’t _fail_ anything. You had to reschedule Quidditch trials.” 

“It’s the principle, Liam,” Louis whines, flopping dramatically back to the couch. “The fact that he got what he wanted, and was able to trample all over my plans on his way. I honestly wanted to whack him over the head with my broom.” 

"I'm glad you didn't."

"It's not completely out of the question yet," Louis warns.

Liam chuckles. “I’ve missed your rambling.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Louis pouts, crossing his arms. 

“I should be telling _you_ to shut up. I haven’t been able to study all week.” 

Louis makes a face. “Term only started a week ago.” 

_“Exactly_.” 

Liam was constantly studying, reading something new. He was aiming to work with the higher-ups at the Ministry of Magic one day, as an official. Louis knew that it would happen, too. Liam had always been the most intelligent of their group of friends, with only the exception of Zayn.

Zayn, a Ravenclaw, was consistently bickering with Liam over who would be top of the class. Louis would wager Zayn and Liam may have the same grades, but Liam’s Slytherin tendencies of ambition always made him go the extra mile, even when not necessary. It pushed him far over the edge. Seeking extra credit, even though he’d aced a test. It drove Zayn wild.

Around fifth year, Louis suspected that there may have been something _other_ than friendly competition going on between the two of them. As crazy as it seemed, when Louis carefully approached the subject, _Liam_ was overly apologetic. 

“I was only waiting for a way to tell you,” He explained, but Louis only hugged him. 

It was odd, Liam’s feeling like he needed to apologize. Louis took _no_ issue with Liam being gay. Liam was his best mate in the world, the lad could’ve been a serial murderer and Louis would have found a reason to love him through it. Besides, Liam was a good-looking lad, so his being gay only meant more ladies for Louis. 

In truth, whenever they weren't together, Louis missed Liam more than he could possibly know. The summer months always dragged for Louis, stretching from two months into what felt like _t_ _en_. How could they not, with such an ordinary life awaiting him at home? Of course it was lovely to see his mother, and to spend time with his younger sisters, but his heart always yearned for Hogwarts. For the magic, his best friends, and the alternate life that he’d built for himself in another world.

It didn't help that no matter how much of this world he explained to his family, Louis’s stories were always met with the same vague confusion. As hard as they tried, they would never _r_ _eally_ understand, and Louis knew that. 

Guilt always clouded his mind when he was home, as didn’t see his family as often as he'd like; it felt unfair to be wishing that he wasn't there.

But as he sat in his childhood bedroom, his trunk sitting at the foot of his bed and his wand lying dormant, he felt an itch he knew wouldn’t be scratched for another nine weeks.

It was the most anxious Louis had ever been to get back to school, but in the same breath, he knew it was his last time to get excited for a new school year. He wanted so badly for it to begin, while knowing that once it did, that meant it would eventually come to an end. 

Lost in thought, Louis doesn’t notice the sound of footsteps behind him, so when a kiss lands on his cheek, he jumps. 

“Been looking for you all day, you avoiding me?” 

Louis laughs at the sound of her voice, and turns to see one of his favorite faces. 

“No dearest, could never avoid you. Not without fear of you sending the hounds after me.” 

“Hey, Elowen,” Liam smiles. 

Liam and El grew up together, as their fathers worked in the same department at The Ministry. When Louis became friends with Liam, he also gained an effervescent blonde that never failed to keep him on his toes. 

It wasn’t till December of last term that Louis even thought of her as something other than a friend, when Liam suggested Louis take her to the Yule Ball. 

_“_ _Elowen_ _?” Louis sputtered. “Why on Earth would I take_ _Elowen_ _?”_

_“I may or may not have inside information as to the fact that she would like for you to-”_

_“Liam. This is a once in a lifetime moment. We’ll literally never see another Yule Ball in our entire lives. You’re telling me I should take the girl who throws spitballs at me? She’s going to hit me in the bloody face before I even get through-”_

_“She’s in love with you, you tit!” Liam instantly turned a shade of pink. “I - I didn’t tell you that.”_

_Louis blinked twice. “You’re taking the piss.”_

_“I’m not!”_

_“You are. There’s no way.” Louis sat back into his chair. “_ _Elowen_ _Stone,” he said, in slight wonderment. “I’ll be damned.”_

“ _Y_ _ou cannot tell her I told you this way.” Liam said desperately._

_“If this is some kind of joke, Liam, I swear to Merlin’s fucking beard-”_

_“Why would I ever make a joke of this?”_

_After a day of threatening Liam within an inch of his life, he decided to ask El to the Yule Ball, hoping he’d make it out alive._

_He caught sight of her white-blonde hair weaving through the mass of students after class, and ran up to catch up with her quick strides._

_“Hey, El,” Louis said, matching her pace._

_“Lou-lou!” She exclaimed, greeting him with a punch in the arm. “Why are you coming this way? I thought you had Defense this hour, there’s no way you’ll make it in time.”_

_“Well, yeah I know, I just had something I wanted to ask you,” Louis felt his stomach drop. Was he really about to do this?_

_“If you’re going to ask me for my Herbology notes, you can piss right off.”_

_“No, not at all – El, would you just stop for a minute?”_

_Most everyone had disappeared into their classrooms by this point, and El shook her head firmly._

_“Louis, I’m going to be late for Magical Theory, you know Professor Condower gets crotchety when she can’t start the lesson-”_

_“Elowen!” Louis halted in his tracks. “Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?”_

_She turned to meet Louis, and looked him very squarely in the eye. She said nothing. Louis thought what a monumental mistake he’d just made, until she broke the silence with a very definitive,_

_“Fine.”_

_And spun on her heel, and left him standing in the corridor._

_T_ _hrough the next few days they barely spoke, and when they did, it certainly was_ ** _not_** _of their impending date._

_Flash forward to the night of the ball – where he stood nervously outside the Slytherin common room, in the itchy navy blue suit his mother had sent_ _him_ _, wringing his hands. Realizing they never set a time to meet, he appeared outside an hour before just to be safe, and sent up three messages to let her know he had arrived._

_He started to think that maybe she was going to stand him up, which really shouldn’t have been a surprised, when she came down the stairs._

_Louis couldn’t fathom how she could look so different, but be the same girl he’d always known – her blonde hair curled and the_ _midnight blue_ _dress she wore seemed to be alive with sparkles jumping off her skin. She was, undoubtedly, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen._

_“Alright then, quit your gawking.” She said, but it wasn’t packed with the usual disdain in her tone. Instead a rosy blush appeared on her cheeks, and Louis loved it. “You better show me a good time. If you step on my feet even once, I’ll turn your hair green.”_

Louis only smiled at her then, and he smiles at her now as she hops over the couch and swings her legs across his lap.

She reaches forward and taps the tip of his nose with her index finger. “Just so long as you don’t forget it.” 

“Winnie, you never let me forget a thing that comes out of your mouth.” 

Elowen fakes a gag, tossing a pillow in Louis’s direction. “I told you to stop calling me that in second year, you idiot. I’m not a bloody bear.” 

Louis shrugs. “Force of habit. You’ll always be my Pooh-bear.” 

This time the gag comes from Liam, who’s begun stowing away his books. “Well, I should leave you two,” He says, and Louis recognizes the giddy energy that has come over him. 

“Y'going to see Zayn?” 

Liam nods. “Yes, well - not quite. Niall’s got him at Three Broomsticks and Zayn can’t get him to go home. I’m going to see what I can do.” 

Niall, the fifth member of their friend group, was a Hufflepuff who liked nothing more than drinking and laughing loudly. Once you got him going, there was very little you could do to get him to come down. 

Louis checks his watch and laughs. “Liam, it’s barely eight o'clock. Tell Grandpa to wait a few, and we’ll all meet him there.” 

El hops up from the couch with a grin. “I could always use a Butterbeer.” 

“I’m going to tell Zayn you called him a grandpa,” Liam warns. “You know he likes to get up early to make sure his notes are in order for class.”

"It's the weekend." Louis says, and Liam gives him a pointed stare.

"As if that's ever stopped him."

“Ah, Zaynie can shuffle papers tomorrow night. Besides, we haven’t really all been back together since the term started.” 

Liam groans, but Louis knows he’s won this round. 

An hour later, Louis is two and a half Butterbeers in, only a little tipsy. He takes stock of his friends around him, Elowen's hand on his thigh, and his heart swells. They’re smiling and laughing and just generally being the greatest people he’s ever known.

Louis can already sense the weight of summertime anxiety sliding away, replaced with the golden warmth Hogwarts has provided for him since he first stepped foot onto the grounds. It's his last year with these magical people, in this magical place.

He is ready to make this the best one yet. 

•◈•

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! If you've made it as far as this note that means you probably read all the way to the end, and for that, I THANK YOU! This is something I've really wanted to write for ages now, as these boys and the Harry Potter universe are two of my greatest loves.
> 
> If you're feeling confused about my sorting choices, well, to that I have to say: *insert fart noise*
> 
> Just kidding!!! I actually love to hear everyone's opinions on which houses they believe to be the boys in, feel free to shoot me a message and we'll discuss. In my head, they are exactly where they belong. I hope you enjoyed!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "An injured lion still wants to roar."

•◈•

Louis is falling asleep in Potions. Again.

He can’t help it. It’s his last class of the day before lunch, he didn't eat enough at breakfast, and all he can think of is the soft confines of his bed. It also doesn’t help that he is utterly, and completely _bored_. 

This class used to be one of his favorites, but nowadays he can’t keep five minutes without his eyes drooping. 

In reality, when he first set out - Louis was quite shit at Potions. It was something Liam forced him to take back in third year, so he could have someone to study with. Louis really took no issue in having an extra class when he _could_ be taking something he actually enjoyed - no, it was more the _concept_ of Potions. To be good at Potions, you needed a natural talent for ingredients and their values, and Liam was practically an encyclopedia for things of that sort. Louis, however, never felt like was. He couldn’t even cook, for Merlin’s sake! 

Even with the study tips and tricks from his friend, Louis never quite got the flow of it all. He stumbled through third and fourth year for Liam’s sake, with plenty of griping, to be sure. 

However, during his fifth and sixth year, Potions was taught by Professor Temitope, who was, to put it plainly, _fit as all hell._ Louis smiles a bit to himself as he mentally pictures her - perfect, deep skin, and ringlets of curly hair that bounced ever-so-slightly each time she took a step. She had the prettiest lilt to her voice - Louis could watch and listen her all day. And that he did, and coincidentally, it caused him do better in her class. He made _strides_ in Potions after the first week. Louis wanted so badly to impress her, he made _flashcards._

At the end of fifth year, during student-teacher examinations, she told Louis that he was her most improved student. _Most improved!_ These were monumental words for a young, love-struck fourteen-year-old.

Then, at the end of his fifth year, to Louis's horror, Professor Temitope got engaged to the boyfriend Louis didn’t know she had. Louis was heartbroken, and Liam told him he was delusional if he ever thought he’d had a chance. They were married, and not long after was she expecting.

The professor left for maternity leave a few weeks after last term ended, and Louis was stuck with an abundance of useless knowledge of all the things he’d spent so much time studying about to impress his unrequited love. 

So, he decided to take Potions for his last year.

 _Why not?_ Louis thought as he added the class to his roster. _How bad could it be?_

Bad. It could be this bad. 

Now here he is, fighting to stay awake, again. 

Their new instructor, a small grey-haired wizard named Professor Doyle, seemed nice enough; but _Merlin,_ was he about as exciting as a brick. He spoke at what Louis assumed to be thirty words a minute, all drawn-out and in the most monotone register you could imagine.

Towards the front of the room, Liam occasionally turns back to check on Louis’ state of consciousness, rolling his eyes every time he spots Louis nodding off. 

Right as Louis feels his head dropping toward the table, something taps him sharply on the forehead thrice. He opens his eyes to find an origami bird flittering in front of his face. It taps Louis again, in rapid succession, effectively waking him up and annoying the piss out of him. 

“Oi,” Louis hisses quietly, rubbing at his face. The folded paper bird seems to look at him sternly, before it unfolds itself onto his textbook, with a message scrawled across its wings. 

**_Wake up._ **

Louis looks up at Liam, who’s tucking his wand away. He gestures for Louis to sit up.

In return, Louis makes a face at him, and fights off the immediate urge to send one back; to poke Liam directly in his arse. But he can’t stay too irritated for long; Liam is always looking out for him. He straightens himself, and tries to tune in on what the old bat Doyle was going on about.

He begins fiddling with various glass beakers, wondering how he can manage to keep this up the for the whole term when the classroom door bursts open. 

The sound of the wood smacking against the stone brings the whole room to collectively jump, snapped out of the trance of the professor's voice.

Through the door walks Headmaster McGonagall, and for some ungodly reason, she’s got _Harry Styles_ in tow. 

She looks dignified as ever, Louis thinks, her head held high and unwavering as she strolls right up to the front of the room.

“Good afternoon, Professor Doyle. I am sorry to disturb your lesson.”

Even the professor seems to have been startled, as if he was snapped from a daze of his own doing. 

“Not at all, Headmaster. How might I be of service to you today?” 

"As of today, Mr. Styles will be joining your class.” 

Louis's eyes widen, and he sits up in his seat fully, hoping to Merlin that he misheard. This was the first term in seven years that Louis just happened to escape having a single class with Harry, a gift. Now?

 _Three weeks into_ _term_ _?_

No. 

_Oh, no, no._

Louis eyes dart to the seat next to him. Empty. He turns his gaze back across the room to Liam, whose eyes are frantic with the same realization as his own. 

_Fuck_. 

“Headmaster, we are late into the term. This is course is rather advanced, and it may be a struggl-” 

“I’m certain he’ll have no issue in catching up. Will you, Mr. Styles?” 

“I reckon I’ll be just fine.” He says with a shrug. He looks bored, loudly indifferent to everything around him. Louis wants to flick him on the nose. 

"Excellent," McGonagall nods, already on her way out the door, "Good day, Professor Doyle."

"Yes, yes. Good day, Headmaster." says Professor Doyle warily, who seems positively drained from the interaction - Louis can relate. “Welcome, Mr. Styles. You’ll need to take a seat.” The teacher squints his ancient eyes and peers around the room, until he settles on Louis, and the very empty stool beside him. 

“You’ll have to take a seat in the back, next to... Mr. Tomlinson. Would you mind sharing a book for today, until we can acquire you a new one for next class?” 

Louis doesn’t miss the way the Gryffindor’s eyes positively light up at the mention of Louis's name, and the smirk that spreads across his dumb, _stupid,_ idiot face. 

“That won’t be a problem, Professor _Dull_.” 

There are a few chuckles at his ridiculous and unfunny joke, sending Louis’ eyes rolling to the back of his head. Thankfully, the professor doesn’t seem to take notice, continuing on with his lesson at just the same pace and tone as before. 

On his way to the back of the classroom, Harry pulls out his wand, the movement half-hidden within his swishing robes. He flicks it ever-so-casually to the left, and the book in the Professor’s hand goes flying across the room. 

“Goodness!” Doyle exclaims, watching as it skids across the floor. He slowly lowers himself to collect it, using the desk as support when he struggles to get up on his own. “My apologies, class. I may be getting older than I care to admit.” 

Some of the Gryffindors catch Harry's hand in a high-five when he passes, chortling amongst each other.

Louis's teeth grind as Harry sets himself down on the stool with a careless plop, and snatches Louis’ book from under his fingers. 

“You won’t mind if I borrow this, will you? Mummy never did teach me to share.” 

“She also never got around to teaching you manners, it seems.” Louis grumbles. He can tell Styles is trying to rile him, and it won’t work. Not yet, at least. 

Louis spends the remainder of class practically holding his breath, watching from the corner of his eye as Harry scrawls inappropriate and crude messages in the margins of _his_ textbook. With _his_ quill, and very permanent ink _._

Louis does his best to follow along to the Professor’s lesson without his book, making a few errors in ingredients. He scribbles random notes on a small notepad he typically uses for another class, but it’ll have to do for today. 

When the bell rings and class is finally over, Louis feels as though he may scream. There are lines in his palms where his nails have dug in. Liam glances back across the room, spots the color that has left Louis’s face, and begins to pack his books with fervor. 

Harry tosses the book back to Louis’s side of the table. “Here’s your book, _Louise_.” 

“You know very well that’s not my name,” Louis replies calmly, sliding the book back in his direction. “Keep the book. You’ll need it more than I do.” 

Harry'a face shifts to an ugly glare, and he takes a step in Louis' personal space. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”

“ _Harry!_ ” Liam interrupts, making his way to their desk. “I caught the Quidditch match last weekend. Your new Seeker is incredible,” He smiles a robotic, wide smile, one that Louis knows to be inauthentic, but he can appreciate the diversion nonetheless. Louis knows exactly what Liam is doing – jocks like Styles are all so predictable. Especially the Gryffindors. Eating up any compliments and glory wherever they can.

“I know,” Harry shrugs, stepping away. “I put him on the team myself.” 

“Right,” Liam chuckles, as if this was a silly fact he’d forgotten. “You’ve got a good eye for talent.” 

“Probably why they made me captain.” 

"Right," It’s a wonder that Liam’s demeanor remains steady and true. “Well, we’ll probably catch you around at the next game.” 

Louis can’t help but flinch at Liam’s poor timing - he couldn’t have remembered that Slytherin is scheduled to play Gryffindor next, this week. 

“Right,” Harry draws out, parroting Liam's words with another smirk rising to his face. “You’re our next victims.” 

It will be the Slytherin’s first game of the season, unlike the Gryffindor’s - who took the Hufflepuffs on for their first game last weekend, and absolutely demolished them. 

Louis doesn’t ignore Harry's choice of words. During last week’s game, Hamish Harris – a Hufflepuff Chaser – _somehow_ broke his arm. Evidently, Madam Abernathy (their Flying instructor and referee,) hadn’t seen enough to call a foul, but it was very clear to everyone who watched that there was a clear moment of Blatching. The Hufflepuff captain swears he saw one of the Gryffindors slam directly into Hamish right as he was about to score, sending him straight into the goalpost – thus breaking his arm. 

All Louis can manage is a tight-lipped smile so firm, it feels like his jaw is going to permanently lock in place. It's better that way, he thinks, because if he dares to open his mouth, he isn’t sure what will come out of it. 

“Looking forward to it.” Harry nods, before exiting the class. 

A large exhale escapes Louis’s mouth. How long had he been holding his breath for? 

“Let’s get out of here before I hit something. Or someone,” Louis mumbles, gathering his belongings. 

“Mr. Tomlinson,” The professor calls from his desk. “Before you leave, might I have a word with you?” 

Louis heaves his bag onto his shoulders, knowing this can’t possibly be good. Liam shoots him a sideways glance, but Louis waves him off with an, “ _I’ll catch you later,”_ look. 

Louis approaches the desk cautiously. “Yes, Professor?” 

“I’d like you to see to it that Mr. Styles feels adequately prepared for the rest of the fall term.” 

Louis blinks. “I’m sorry Professor, I’m not sure I understand what you mean?” 

“Make sure that he has appropriate tools and material to succeed.” 

“B-but Professor-” Louis stammers. “You can’t possibly make him my responsibility.” 

“More often than not, students like Mr. Styles are misunderstood, and in need of a good influence. A model to look after. A friend,” Professor Doyle peers over his glasses. “You could really turn him around if you helped him stay focused on the curriculum rather than making half-witted jokes to make his peers laugh.” 

Though he was nowhere near responsible, Louis feels his face warm. He feels embarrassed that he assumed Professor hadn’t heard the jokes Styles was making about him, and a wave of guilt blooms in the pit of his stomach for thinking that Doyle was ancient and clueless. 

"With all due respect, Professor - he's a bully. He would never in a million years see things my way."

“I’ve been around and doing this for quite some time,” He states plainly. “There are very few things I _haven’t_ seen. Unfortunately for Mr. Styles, he is not an anomaly. He's quite predictable, in fact."

"Predictable?"

"Of course. One thing I know to be certain, is that peace is more important than being _right_. If you could befriend Mr. Styles, I think he would be more inclined to put forth an effort in class."

A nervous laugh bubbles out of Louis. “I don’t know if that’s possible.”

“All I ask is that you try. Should it prove more than you can handle, we can discuss swapping partners.”

There’s something about the finality in Doyle’s tone that tells Louis there will be no debate on this topic. So, he swallows down his pride, and nods. “I will do my best. I can’t promise that it will be enough.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Tomlinson. I’ll see you next class. I will have a new book for you by then.” Professor Doyle gives him a knowing look, before returning back to his papers. 

Louis is glad to round the classroom door and find Liam leaning against the wall, waiting for him. 

“Well?” Liam inquires, matching Louis’ step. “What did he say?” 

“Professor wants me to be _nice_ to him. Thinks it would help him with his _studies_. That 'peace is more important than being right.'" 

They walk in silence for a bit, through the massive stone hallway back to their room. He can just tell Liam is biting his tongue, his lips pressed together tightly. 

“Alright, Li.” Louis sighs. “Spit it out.” 

“I just think this is the perfect opportunity!” Liam blurts. “You can finally get to the root of whatever the issue is between the two of you, and solve it once and for all! Imagine, the two of you could even be _friends_.” 

They come to the painting in the wall which guards their common room. A floor to ceiling portrait of a man sat on a grand chair, clothed in emerald green robes. 

“Password, please,” It leers, leaning so far forward it looks like he might fall right out. 

“Bouncing Bowtruckle.” Louis responds, shoving his wand angrily in his robes. “Don’t you get it, Liam? There is no friendship for him. Nothing will appease him. I bet he doesn’t even have friends, just mindless sycophants who hang on his every bloody word.” 

“I hate to see you get so angry.” Liam shrugs. “You’re not the same when you’re around him.” 

“I can’t explain it. He gets right under my skin. Did you _see_ him picking on Professor during class today? Who _does_ that?” 

Louis swings the door to their room open, and spots a familiar silver lump snoozing on his bed. 

“Elton!” Louis exclaims excitedly, dropping his pack and perching down to his level. “I haven’t seen you in a week, you cheeky thing. Where have you gotten off to?” 

The cat blinks to alertness, letting out a very quiet _mewl._ Louis strokes his silver coat, scratching underneath his collar the way that he likes. It’s not necessary for pets to wear a collar while on school grounds, but Louis keeps a deep sage green collar with a golden tag on Elton, as to set him apart. Besides, Louis loves the way the green pops on his grey coloring – he just looks positively regal. 

It’s not unlike the creature to disappear for random increments of time – Louis always laughed as he imagined there must be some secret society for the pets of the students of Hogwarts. He pictured them all sat at a long table in the dining hall, in the dead of night when the grand room was empty. Every cat, toad, owl – having a conversation in their own right. 

Elton meows softly before settling in Louis’ lap, purring contentedly. 

On the other side of the room, Liam strips himself of his sweater and loosens his tie. "On the subject of Harry," Liam begins, "I think you should listen to Doyle. Sometimes peace _is_ more important than being right."

"What I'm going to do, Liam," Louis shoots him a pointed look, "Is what I always do. I'm going to _mind my business_. If Styles has something to say about it, I will deal with it then. But I refuse to coddle him. He's not my problem." 

Louis kicks off his shoes, and lays his head down. He doesn't remember falling asleep, but he does remember having a very pleasant dream in which he gets to punch a certain Gryffindor _directly_ in the face.

•◈•

It’s cloudier and a little foggier than Liam would prefer for a Quidditch match. 

He is stood in the spectator’s stands, wringing his hands nervously. The goal posts set against a slate grey sky seem haunting today, and he can’t shake the feeling of anxiety looming over his head. 

Liam is very proud to be a Slytherin, he thinks. 

Not that he had any preference when it came to being sorted into a house, he was just so excited to come and learn. He didn’t mind if he shared a stable with the Hippogriffs. He just wanted to come and soak everything up as quickly as possible. 

He could tell his parents were surprised when they received the letter from him, stating that he’d been sorted into Slytherin. His parents most certainly had him pegged him for Ravenclaw, his mother hailing from the house herself. He tended to take after her in most ways, so it was even a surprise to Liam himself. He didn’t know if they were disappointed, but he felt proud nonetheless.

A _quiet_ pride. Today he feels like he’s shouting from the rooftops that he is a Slytherin, head to toe in emerald and silver. 

The night before, he had conjured up every single piece of paraphernalia from the trunk at the foot of his bed, and then some. Liam knows if there was ever a day to be a supportive friend, today is it. 

He practically jumps out of his skin when Zayn taps him on the shoulder. 

“It’s just me,” Zayn laughs, but his smile fades when he sees the far-off look on Liam’s face. The lines in his forehead and slightly pursed lips, all dead giveaways that Liam was feeling off. “What’s going on? Are you really that nervous for this match?” 

“It’s not so much about the match,” Liam says carefully, and they take their seats. He pulls a second Slytherin scarf from his pile of gear, and wraps it around Zayn’s neck. 

Zayn chuckles, touching it lightly with two fingers. “What’s all this about?” 

“Oh, I’m not done just yet.” 

From inside his coat he produces a green cap, and places it on top of Zayn’s head, pulling a few hairs free to dangle in front of his face. Liam _loves_ when his hair does that. He can’t help but lean forward and sneak a quick kiss, even though it’s brisk outside and his lips are slightly chapped. It calms his nerves a bit when Zayn’s warm hand cups his cheek in a sweet stroke. 

“I guess I’m a Slytherin for today,” He concedes, picking a banner from the pile on the ground. “Any reason we’re going all-out?” 

“I just thought it would be encouraging for Louis to look up and see all the support,” Liam sighs. “You know how Gryffindors are. It’s always a sea of red and gold.” 

“Right. Where’s Niall? If _I’m_ going to be converted, so is he.” Zayn seems alarmed that he’s not there. “Has he slept in again? 

“He’s gone to sit with Lenora in the box today,” Liam grunts. “I wish he’d picked a different match. This is important.” 

Lenora Gundred, another Hufflepuff, was a Quidditch fanatic. Though never having played herself, she was an extremely enthusiastic announcer - in all of the years Liam had been attending matches for Louis, she had remained one of his favorite parts. Her voice teeming with excitement and clarity, not to mention her attention to detail was incomparable. And Niall was irrevocably in love with her. 

It’s taken a few years, but Niall may finally have broken through the barrier of friendship she’s put up for all this time, though Liam isn’t sure. As tenacious as Niall is in life, he isn’t the type of lad to kiss and tell. 

With two minutes to the start, the stands are filled up quite nicely, and Liam is glad he’d arrived as early as he had. Zayn did look at him funny, but Liam knew better than to come right at game time for the first match of the season, let alone a match versus the Gryffindors.

“Do you think he’s nervous?” Zayn asks, a little quieter as the students around them settle into their spots. He takes Liam’s hand in his lap, squeezing twice. 

Despite the nerves settling deep in his belly, Liam smiles a bit and squeezes back. “It’s his first match as Captain. I think he thinks he’s got something to prove.” 

“To who?” 

“To the rest of the team. To Styles. To _himself._ I think some part of him still believes that he doesn’t belong here.” 

“You mean at Hogwarts.” 

“Yes,” Liam exhales. “At Hogwarts.” 

“But that’s bullshit,” Zayn shakes his head. “It’s complete and total bullshit and I wish he knew that. I wish he knew how talented he was, he’d never doubt his place here for another second.” 

The horns blow, and Lenora’s voice peals over the stadium.

 _“Welcome, students!”_

_“_ Yes, well.” Liam swallows. He searches frantically until he spots the name _TOMLINSON_ on the back of Louis’s billowing robes, flying across the field. “Let’s hope _today_ is the day he realizes.” 

•◈•

It’s too foggy today. 

Louis swears to himself as he steps on the field, and thinks that he’s got to warn Samir. He is Louis’ new Seeker. Louis took a monumental leap of faith, letting a second year have it. 

_No._ Louis chastises himself. _Today is not the day to doubt yourself._

The kid was as quick as a whip and had a keen eye, sharper than Louis had seen in years. Louis agonized over his team, and it was hand-selected to perfection. If they didn’t win today, it would not have been for lack of effort. 

Louis returns to the locker room, where his team is sliding on kneepads and goggles. They’re chattering eagerly, discussing plays and whether their girlfriends are in the stands, watching. It’s a moment he wishes he could capture with a photograph – his first match as _Captain._ None of the team seems to look particularly nervous, only Louis who feels the tension in his shoulders.

He catches sight of Samir in the back, pulling on his gloves. 

“Samir,” Louis straddles the bench where he’s sat, and puts a hand on his shoulder. “I just wanted to warn you, it’s foggy today. Might rain a bit. You’d do well to wear some goggles over your glasses, in case it gets too wet out there.” 

Samir’s throat jumps as he swallows, his brown eyes widening. “Oh, Merlin. Louis, I-I really don’t want to disappoint you, mate.”

“Who said anything about disappointment?”

“I just don’t want to let anyone down.” He can’t meet Louis’ eyes, opting to stare down at his lap instead.

Louis stands abruptly. “Alright everyone, gather up!”

The team assembles around Louis in a half-circle, and he makes eye contact with each one.

“It’s the first match of the season and I just have to tell you all before we get out there, how proud I am – of each and every one of you. If you’re in this room right now, it’s for a reason,” Louis glances back to meet Samir’s eye. “It means you are the _best of the best._ And no matter what happens out there today, it won’t change that fact.”

Samir smiles, and stands to join the rest of the group. Louis claps him on the shoulder, bringing him further into the huddle. “I want to see real teamwork out there. We won’t win this if we aren’t all in it, _together_. No amount of glory or praise will make any one person win this alone.” 

The group nods, grunting in agreement. 

Louis turns to grab his broom, and all the players do the same. They meet back in the circle, and Louis throws his hand in the middle. 

**_“Awake, alive, alert!”_ **

“WANT SOME?” Louis shouts, to which his team replies, 

“ _GET_ _SOME_.”

•◈•

The wooden gates to the stadium rise, and Louis is surprised when he has to squint against the light. It’s still cloudy, but it appears that the sun is determined to push through the grey and cast a light on the field. 

Louis grins. He mounts his broom, looks back to give one last nod to his team, and pushes his feet off the ground. 

No matter how many times he’ll do this, he’ll never, ever get tired of it. 

The crowd goes wild as he soars past, heading to the center of the field. He surveys the stands around him, and sees how filled to the brim they are, with roaring students and smiling faces as they wave banners above their heads with fervor. 

Louis steers towards the middle of the pitch with his players following behind, taking their positions - he hovers above the center line just as the Gryffindors do, Harry Styles matching up directly across from him. 

Louis's forces himself to remain stone-faced as Harry smirks at him, and he manages to, even when Harry's lips move to mouth a quick, _'Good luck,_ ' at him, paired with a shit-eating grin that Louis wants to smack off.

Madam Abernathy stands below them, staring up with hands on her hips. She's a stout woman, but she commands attention with her presence alone. 

“I want a clean game today!” She calls up to the two teams, “A clean game with no funny business,” She aims this comment specifically towards a Gryffindor player, who presumably did precisely that during last week’s game. 

As always, Louis’ heart hammers furiously as she bends down and unlatches the chest of balls, releasing the Bludgers first. 

They zoom towards the clouds, darting off in two separate directions. Louis assumes the Snitch follows, but he’s too busy keeping his eyes locked on Styles - who also won't let his gaze drop. 

Madam Abernathy takes a step with the Quaffle in hand, tosses it in the air, and they’re off. 

_“The_ _Quaffle_ _is up and the game has begun!”_ Lenora's voice announces over the crowd, whose cheering nearly drowns her out.

Louis jerks his broom up to seize the Quaffle, but Harry already has it in his grasp. Louis grits his teeth and switches direction, hot on his trail. 

_“Captain Harry Styles takes the Quaffle!”_

Louis swoops down, hoping to intersect him before he can make the shot – but it’s too late. Harry is _fast._ Too fast. Slytherin's Keeper, Isla, swings out to block the Quaffle, and misses. 

_“Harry Styles scores! First points of the game to Gryffindor!”_

The Slytherin Keeper looks infuriated as she sends the ball back into play, right into the arms of their Chaser, Archie. He spots a Bludger coming, and tosses the ball in Louis’s direction with just enough time to duck out of its way. 

_“Slytherin has taken possession of the_ _Quaffle_ _. Archie Cameron passes it on to Captain Louis Tomlinson!”_

Catching the ball with his left hand, Louis cuts against the wind and zips through the stands, winding in and around the spectators with the Quaffle under his arm. From the corner of his eye, he can see two Gryffindor Chasers hot on his flanks. He’s comes close to the goalposts, but knows he won’t ever make a shot past their Keeper with two Chasers on his tail. 

From below, Louis can see his other Chaser, Astrid, gliding just under wind. She looks up at just the right moment, allowing Louis to give a subtle nod of his head, to which she grins at. 

Louis tilts his broom up with a sudden jerk, as if he’s going in for the shot - and lets the Quaffle drop down to her. She catches it and Louis veers to the right just as Astrid hurls it through the top post. 

_“Astrid Marlowe sneaks right past and scores with an absolutely brilliant fake-out maneuver, ten points to Slytherin!”_

“Yes, Astrid!” Louis shouts over the wind, slapping her hand as she passes. 

_“Gryffindor takes hold of the_ _Quaffle_ _once again!”_

A Gryffindor Chaser soars with the Quaffle, ducking out of the way of a Bludger that sails an inch above his head. He swoops down and passes it on to Styles, waiting by the goalposts, who bats the ball with his broom. 

Louis holds his breath, but Isla doesn’t fail this time, blocking the shot with her forearm. 

_“Terrific block from Slytherin Keeper, Isla Evans!”_

Louis catches the Quaffle as she tosses it back into play, but is quickly swarmed by two Gryffindor Chasers on either side of him. They lock in a formation, and Louis grips tightly to the ball - he searches for someone to pass to, but no one is open. 

The Chaser on his left bats the ball from his grasp, and both Gryffindor players swan dive with the ball at the same moment. Louis briefly wonders why, until he’s brutally whacked with a Bludger on his right shoulder. 

The sheer force of it is enough to send him flying off his broom, managing only to grab it with one hand. A steady, distressing pain begins to bloom in his shoulder, and it’s all Louis can do not to scream. He hears the audience quiet as he readjusts his grip on the broom. 

“ _Oi, that’s got to hurt! A brutal Bludger takes out Captain Louis Tomlinson.”_

He drifts down, barely managing to keep hold of his broom. As soon as his feet touch the grass, he lets out a sigh of relief. The game continues on overhead, and he watches as Slytherin scores again. _Yes!_

_“Archie Cameron scores with an assist from Astrid. Ten points to Slytherin!”_

Louis smiles as he clutches his shoulder. It’s dislocated, for certain. The agony of this isn’t unfamiliar to him, he’s experienced many dislocations before. Even still, he mounts his broom again, and flies steadily, back to the commotion. 

“ _It looks like he’s not down for the count – Louis Tomlinson is back in the game!”_

Louis tries to not let it go to his head too much when the crowd screams. 

He holds his arm to his side to keep his shoulder steady, and surveys the game. He watches as a Gryffindor Chaser makes a reverse pass over his shoulder to Styles, who fakes left and throws a curve ball into the goal. 

“ _Gryffindor Captain Styles makes another shot! Ten points to Gryffindor!”_

Louis swears. They’d practiced a million times on how to block a curveball. Louis makes a mental note to run that drill a hundred more times next practice. 

He’s not paying nearly enough attention when Styles flies past him, elbowing hard on his shoulder as he glides past. 

Louis hisses, nearly losing his grip on the broom again. He grits his teeth hard against the pain, fighting back the tears that pinprick his eyes. 

He is beginning to think that he may have to leave the field when he hears the music swell, and the sweet voice of Lenora announces- 

_“Samir Badal has caught the Golden Snitch, and receives one hundred and fifty points for Slytherin!”_

Madam Abernathy blows hard on her whistle, “ _Slytherin wins!”_

_“_ YES! _”_ Louis screams, pumping his fist in the air, forgetting his shoulder - pain sears through his body but he doesn't care. _“_ Yes _,_ yes _,_ yes _, yes,_ Samir!” 

Samir - in all his sweaty glory, holds the Snitch high above his head. He has the widest smile set on his face, possibly the largest grin Louis has ever seen in his life. 

He wishes he could have witnessed the moment himself, but Louis knows for as long as he will live, he’ll never forget the scene. The crowd roars, and Louis can’t help but bellow along with them. 

•◈•


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Serpents hide in the grass, and people behind their lies."

•◈•

Two Mondays later, Louis stands in front of his brass cauldron, stirring his potion slowly. 

As it had been for the past few classes with Harry as his "partner," (a term which Louis used _very_ loosely,) Louis was completing that day's potion alone. It was a mystery to him how Harry was turning in completed homework assignments week after week, seeing as the boy was never truly paying attention - but that was outside Louis's realm of responsibility, and _way_ outside his realm of caring.

“You know, you could at least pretend to put in an effort.” Louis grumbles, squinting at the next step of instructions in his textbook. 

**_USE MORTAR AND PESTLE TO GRIND FOUR LIONFISH SPINES._ **

Beside him, Harry slouches deep on his stool, his head down and buried between his folded arms.

Louis had noticed the way Harry seemed particularly irritable today, as he dragged himself into class with a sluggish crawl as opposed to his usual pretentious swagger. His hair was mussed, a crown of disarranged curls on his head, and even his robes were even wrinkled; it was odd, considering how well-put together Styles was on a normal basis. 

“What would I need to do that for? You’re perfectly capable of doing this yourself.” He mumbles without lifting his head, the words slightly muffled by the fabric of his robes. 

“I don’t think Doyle would agree.” Louis hums, shrugging one shoulder.

The Professor strolls along in the front of the classroom, periodically peering over students’ shoulders to assess the state of their concoctions. 

Harry pokes one eye out and watches as Doyle begins to cross to their side of the room. 

Harry eyes roll back and comes to his feet, standing shoulder to shoulder next to Louis. He yanks the spoon from Louis’s grip and makes a grand show of stirring, and Louis is quick to correct him. 

“Oi, hold on," He places his hand over Harry's own and shows him. "Twice _counterclockwise_ , once clockwise. Unless you want it to blow up in your face.”

Harry snorts at Louis's warning, and shoves his hand away. "That's a little dramatic, don't you think?"

"Why don't you fuck it up and find out?"

Harry shoots Louis a nasty glare right as Doyle stops ahead of their table, surveying the simmering elixir. 

“Very good progress. It’s just the right hue of purple. Don't forget to add the Infusion of Wormwood after you’ve let the mixture come to _room_ temperature. Common mistake among most.” 

Louis nods, and Harry gives a weary thumbs-up in response. 

As soon as Doyle crosses over to the next pair of students, Harry plops onto his seat again, in his drooped-over position. 

Louis eyes him up and down. “You look awful.” 

“Shut it, Tomlinson.” 

“No, really. You look like shit.” 

"Do you ever stop talking?" Louis can tell he’s hit home when Harry straightens up with a scowl, self-consciously smoothing out some of the creases in his robes. “Some of us have a social life.” 

“Ah, so that’s what it is. You’re hungover.” Louis chuckles. “ _Some of us_ can’t handle our alcohol.” 

“What can I say, when Broomsticks calls, I answer.” 

“Three Broomsticks? How did you manage that? It wasn’t a Hogsmeade weekend.” 

“As if I’m going to share that information with you.” 

“Whatever. Hand me the Fluxweed.” 

Harry looks around the table lazily and selects a random glass pot of leaves. 

Louis rolls his eyes. “That’s Knotgrass.” 

Harry huffs out a frustrated breath and chooses the next one. Louis takes it and picks ten dried leaves out of the pot, crushing them in his fist before dropping it in the cauldron. The book says to use the mortar and pestle again, but Louis feels the plant's potency will survive better as flakes as opposed to ground-up powder. As the flakes hit the water, they sizzle and give up a small column of smoke, before settling. Louis smiles, checking the text for the next bit of instructions. 

**_REVERSE STIRRING PATTERN; TWICE CLOCKWISE, ONCE COUNTERCLOCKWISE. CONTINUE STIRRING UNTIL ALL INGREDIENTS HAVE BEEN ADDED._ **

_**REDUCE FLAME AND ADD A SPLASH OF HORKLUMP JUICE.** _

Louis turns the knob that controls the small flame under the pot, lowering it nearly all the way. He spots the vial of Horklump Juice across the table, and reaches for it across Styles’s head. Annoyingly, it lies just a few inches out of reach. 

He blows out an exasperated breath. “Honestly, Styles. If you would get off your _arse_ , I could use a little more assistance.” 

“You act like this is difficult.” 

Louis can’t stifle the scowl that comes to his face. “If it isn’t, then why am I doing it alone?” 

Harry scoffs. “You’re not going to trick me into doing this.” 

Louis glowers, and remembers that Harry is exactly the type to feed off his reactions, and stabilizes his breathing. He catches a glimpse of Professor Doyle, who has returned to his desk at the front of the room. He holds Louis’ gaze and gives a subtle nod, no doubt to remind him of their conversation. Even Liam turns around to check in on him, mouthing subtly over his shoulder, 

_You okay?_

Louis waves him off while his eyes roll back in his head. 

_Sometimes peace is more important than being right._

_Peace._

“You know,” Louis begins cautiously, steadying his tone. “If you ever needed any extra... Um, _advice_ with class, I’m actually really good at this. I could always-” 

“Are you calling me stupid?” Harry sits up. “Bold.” 

“Godric, you’re exhausting.” Louis groans. “I’m trying to offer you help.” 

“I didn’t ask for any.” 

Heat rises up in Louis’s chest. He keeps his hand balanced as he stirs. “Well, if you don’t think this class is difficult, and don’t need any help, you could participate a little more.” 

“Or _what,_ Tomlinson? You’re going to show me what’s up?” 

“I’m not trying to fail this course, Styles,” Louis seethes. "Fuck, your idiocy truly drains me."

“Listen, the only reason I'm not reminding you who exactly you’re talking to is because my brain just might fucking implode, but I won’t forget it next time.” 

“Could you just please just help me with this?” 

The legs of the stool screech against the stone floor as Harry comes to his feet. He snatches the spoon from Louis’s hold once again. 

“You want some help?” He shoves spoon back in the cauldron, his expression mocking with every turn. “You think I can’t fucking stir twice counterclockwise, once clockwise?” 

Louis's eyes go wide. “No wait, Styles, that’s not-” 

Louis reaches out to stop him but it’s already too late, as the previously lavender liquid begins to bubble violently, shifting to a putrid shade of orange. It rises until it’s spilling over the sides of the cauldron and onto the table, dripping excess on the floor. 

Immediately the potion begins to kick up a beastly smell, a violating stench like a combination of burnt hair and spoiled eggs. It’s enough to make Louis’s eyes water, so potent he can practically taste it. 

“Now at look what you’ve done!” Louis shouts, holding the sleeve of his robes over his nose. 

As the floating smell makes its way around the room, students rush to the windows to escape it, complaining loudly as Professor Doyle shuffles over. He takes one look down at pot and nods grimly. 

“Class may be dismissed,” Professor Doyle announces. “However, I would like a three-page report written before next class, reflecting on the effects of mishandling the instructions of Potion-stirring.”

 _“Oh, come on, Tommo!”_

_“Seriously? Merlin, Tomlinson!”_

_“You’ve done it now, Louis.”_

_“_ You’re going to regret this,” Harry mutters, being the first one to push past everyone on his way out the door. 

His fellow students rush to pack their belongings, exiting the room and grumbling their many complaints on the way out. 

Louis is just about to leave when he turns back, watching as the old man cleans the room by himself, shuffling from desk to desk, collecting vials. It would be incredibly impertinent to leave him to deal with the aftermath alone... 

_Damn your empathy, Louis._

He sighs and sets down his bag. Pulling out his wand, Louis aims it at the large puddle on the floor beneath the table. 

“ _S_ _courgify_ _.”_

The liquid slowly disappears, vanishing into the air. He does the same for the cauldron, and the near-ruined textbooks on the desk, but the scent still lingers. 

“This is a particularly nasty one to misinterpret.” Doyle explains. “Unfortunately, there’s nothing to do about the smell. It will dissipate in its own time.” He produces his own wand from within his robes, directing it toward the windows. _“Ferox_ _speculo.”_

It’s a relief when the glass panes slide open, allowing the fresh breeze to come through and alleviate some of the scent. 

Louis simply nods his response, silently helping to reshelve textbooks and empty cauldrons of their half-completed mixtures. 

After a stretch of comfortable quiet, Doyle clears his throat. “Mr. Styles seemed to be a bit more participative today.” 

“Yes, well.” Louis snorts. “Looks can be deceiving.” 

“I only meant that seemed to partake more in today’s lesson.” 

“And look where that got us.” Louis gestures around the empty room with a wave of his hands, and the professor shoots him a weary glance. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be disrespectful, Professor Doyle.” 

“Atticus,” He replies. “You may call me Atticus.” 

“Oh,” says Louis, taken aback. “I’ve never - I've not been able to call a professor by their first name before.” 

“Have you ever asked to?” 

“No,” Louis laughs. “I suppose not.” 

The professor simply gives him a knowing smile. 

Once the room is restored to its original order, Louis shoulders his bag and turns to leave. He isn’t sure how long ago the lunch bell rang, but maybe if he hurries to the Great Hall, he'll be able to get a quick bite to eat before his next class. 

“I'm sorry again about the mess today, Profess- um, Atticus. Hopefully it won’t happen again next class. Or ever again, ideally.” 

“You’re making an impact.” Doyle calls just as Louis heads through the doorway. “It may not seem like it, and it won’t be all at once, but I believe by the end of term you’ll have made an impact on him.” 

Lingering in the doorway, Louis sighs. “How can you tell?” 

“I simply can.” Doyle replies, as blasé as ever. He’s trudges back to his desk, and begins unwrapping bits of his lunch. 

Louis leans against the doorframe. “That seems like quite the leap of faith you’re asking me to take.” 

Doyle shrugs. “You know, one of the perks of being ancient is also being wise and all-knowing.” 

“Yet still not all-knowing enough to know how to get rid of this smell?” Louis smirks.

The Professor laughs, and Louis realizes he’s never seen him smile – it's funny, and a little strange, like seeing a dog walk on its hind legs. His nose scrunches happily and the deep-set creases by his eyes crinkle.

“If you care to stay a bit longer, I would tell you about the Potion I attempted to create for Albus, and how long _that_ smell took to get out of his office. Rumour has it, it still smells a bit of Gurdyroot. ” 

Louis' brows jump, unable to hide his surprise. “Albus? Albus _Dumbledore?”_

“The very same.”

Louis bites on his lip, but smiles. He nods once. “Deal. But only if you share whatever it is you’ve got there for lunch. I’m _starved_.” 

•◈•

Liam is in love with Zayn Malik. 

He tries to think back to a time when he wasn't, and comes up short. Obviously there was a time before, but that’s exactly how it feels in his heart – _before. Before_ he knew who he was, before he felt truly at peace with himself - 

Liam didn’t know he was gay until he met Zayn. 

There was never was the part in his brain that demanded that he chase girls. Those almost animal-like tendencies of noticing every single girl who walked past, and smiled, and was nice to him. Women _were_ lovely and smart and complex, and he recognized all of those traits without feeling the _pull_ he knew his mates were experiencing. 

It often crossed his mind that something may be _wrong_ with him. On many occasions did his father attempt to arrange something between Liam and Elowen – having been the daughter of a family friend, his father couldn’t have made a better match if he tried. The relief that flooded his brain when she confessed her feelings for Louis – just one more thing he wouldn’t have to explain away to his parents with some vague wave of indifference. 

Now, he had been with Zayn for just about two years, and it felt like he’d been in love for forever, and also for five minutes. Time was odd like that – both fleeting, and all-consuming. 

They didn’t truly get to know each other until fifth year – when they sat next to each other on the first day of History of Magic, and Liam could not, for the _life_ of him, stop staring at him. 

Zayn. They ran in a similar circle of friends, and had classes together here and there over the years. He even spoke to him a few times about assignments, but they never engaged long enough to reach a point of friendship past acquaintanceship. 

But they came back from summer holiday, and he was _different._ His biceps gained volume that caused his crisp white shirt to strain slightly, against his skin that had received a lovely glow from whatever holiday his family had taken, and he just seemed... surer of himself. From the way he confidently strode into class, set his books down on the desk next to Liam and asked, 

“Is this taken?” 

It took a moment for Liam to register the newness in Zayn's voice – still soft as it had always been, still gentle. But deeper. More rich. 

And there _it_ was.

Just like that, Liam knew what he'd been missing out on. That _pull_. Though he'd never felt it before, he immediately recognized the pull he’d never been able to identify, something he’d only heard about. But all his mates, they always felt it towards... Well, _girls._ Was he confused? 

It was a pit in his stomach that blossomed hotly, and walked the fine line between pleasant and dreadful. 

Liam willed himself to speak, but instead muttered something incoherent and gestured for Zayn to sit. While he did, Liam tried to look busy with his quill and ink, only looking over every few seconds to make sure this was _it._ He couldn’t deny the feeling, or what it was certain to mean - 

Was Liam _ga_ _y_ _?_

_Improbable, but not impossible._

“My mate Ilse had class on Monday, and told me Professor Twelvetrees is a complete arse,” Zayn mumbled, turning slightly toward Liam. He had the hint of a smile tugging at his lips, and it was _beautiful_. “What do you think?” 

_Get your shit together, Payne._

Liam shook his thoughts away. “An arse? How?” 

“Described him as ‘absurdly self-righteous.’ Like teaching History of Magic is his gift to the world.” 

Despite himself, Liam chuckled. “He can’t be that bad, I’m sure it’s what everyone says about new professors.” 

As though on cue, the professor stalked into the room and set his case on the desk with severity. He was a lanky, blonde man, and had thick glasses that make his eyes seem cartoonish and widened, like he was perpetually being told a bit of shocking news. 

Quiet fell over the room as he wrote, in large, scrawled-out letters on the chalkboard, 

**HISTORY OF MAGIC**

In complete silence, he turned, with arms crossed to meet the room. 

“What makes History of Magic so special?” The man asked, but it was clearly rhetorical. Not one hand raised to respond. 

“One may argue, the past is always around us, and that history is made every second of every moment. The past becomes more and more irrelevant as we make more of it, as we see it. However, without History, there would be no future. We must tip our hats to her, to History, for granting us the wisdoms to not make yesterday’s mistakes. 

In this class, we will dig and explore the secrets of Magical history, and what greatness it has imposed on those who choose to learn her mysteries. Please take out your quills, as I have prepared a placement assessment to see what we know about our illustrious History thus far.” 

A collective groan sounded from the room. Zayn rolled his head to the left and gave Liam a knowing look, as if they’d had a secret language of glances for years, and whispered, 

“ _Complete_ arse.” 

Liam smiled, and thus began their friendship. It was discovered later in the week that they also shared their Herbology and Arithmancy classes, which was a perfect excuse to see Zayn outside. For _studying_ purposes, of course. 

Between them developed a healthy competition, a friendship that resulted in many late-night study sessions to prep for Twelvetrees’ infamous random assessments, and Butterbeers over their favorite Quidditch teams. (Zayn was a firm supporter of the Holyhead Harpies, whereas Liam would never stop loving the Ballycastle Bats.) They would talk for hours and Liam would think of things to tell Zayn when they weren’t together. He didn’t know what it meant, but he did know one thing: He’d never had a friend like this. 

Flash forward to some months later, after most of his free time being spent with Zayn, Liam thought to himself, maybe this _wasn’t love._ Maybe he had just found a kindred spirit, someone whose soul matched his own. It didn’t have to mean anything that the way Zayn ran his fingers through the front of his hair made Liam’s knees a little weak. That he constantly found himself staring far too long at the way Zayn mouthed the words he was reading; at the way he traced the pages with his fingers. It didn’t have to mean a single thing. 

On one of their many late-night excursions to study, Liam could hardly get a grip on his thoughts. He saw an eyelash resting on Zayn’s cheek, and had to physically fight the urge to brush it away. 

“I was right!” Zayn exclaimed, pointing to a line in his textbook. “-The Werewolf Code of Conduct wasn’t put into effect until 1637... _'_ 37 is still _early_ 1600’s. You said late 1600’s to early 1700’s!” 

It was nearly time for the library to close, the last student besides the pair of them was long gone. Sat by the window that stretched all the way to the ceiling, they could see the entire grounds near the forest. Snow had just begun falling, delicately sticking around the tops of the trees. The sun had long been set, but the moonlight cast just enough of a glow that made the snow seem alive. 

It was achingly idyllic, and Liam couldn’t stop the thought of how _romantic_ it was. Or could be, if he would only convey his feelings correctly. 

Liam glanced up from his book for a moment and considered what he was about to do - 

He'd gone over the scenario in his head more times than he could count. In every play-out possible, it ruins their relationship and he would lose Zayn as a whole. 

But it was bubbling violently inside him, the excess energy displaying itself in his leg, which wouldn’t stop bouncing under the table they shared. 

“Z-” Liam began, heart in his throat. He had to tell him, even if it blew up in his face. He couldn’t go another day feeling what he felt, and not act on it. 

“Hm?” He responded, without lifting his gaze away from the page. 

“You’re my best friend,” He said carefully, watching as Zayn looked up and his eyebrow raised in question. 

“Are you only saying that because you were wrong? You were wrong this time, and you’ll be wrong again, Payne.” 

“No, I mean it. You’re my very best friend.” He said. 

Zayn’s head cocked, and sensing the tone, and he shut his book. Liam’s heart thumped wildly in his chest, as he felt like Zayn already knew what words were going to come out of his mouth next. 

“Yeah, I know. You - You’re my best friend too.” 

“Will you always be? No matter what, you’d be my best friend?” 

“What kind of a question is that?” 

“Just answer it.” 

“Liam, yes, I will always be your best friend – what is going _on?”_

“I just wanted to make that clear before anything else, before I say what I’m about to say.” 

“What are you about to say?” 

Liam looked out the window and sucked in the deepest breath he could, mustered every bit of courage in his body, and launched into what was a _very_ rehearsed monologue; 

“I’m in love with you.” 

He couldn’t look up. He couldn’t meet Zayn’s eyes, but he could feel the tension growing thick with every passing second. 

Liam had chosen those words specifically. He didn’t want to be able to dance around it, or take them back, or have them be misconstrued. He wanted to be able to throw the words out into the Universe, and deal with everything and anything that came after. 

“I am in love with you, and I have been for some time. I’m not telling you because I want anything to change, because you may not feel the same way, and I would never want to make you feel like you _had_ to feel the same way, because our friendship is the most special thing to me, I would hate to lose it, but it has felt – felt so, completely _fraudulent_ to keep spending time with you, feeling the way I do, and every time I see you, I don’t feel like a _friend_ should feel, and if you would rather pretend I never said this and continue on the way we have, I - I think I’ll be alright with that. But it was eating me alive that you didn’t know, and I just needed you to _know_ , and now you do. You _know_.” 

Once he’d caught his breath, Liam finally met Zayn’s eyes. His lips were slightly parted, as if he was going to respond, but he closed them again. 

Zayn faced the window, and didn’t speak for a very long time. Though he felt like he was on fire, Liam felt a bit of relief. One of his played-out scenarios included an infuriated Zayn swiftly punching Liam in the face, and it seemed as though that may not be the case. 

“I’m not sure what to say,” Zayn finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “I really, really don’t know what to say.” 

“That’s alright,” Liam said, a little too hastily. “You don’t have to say anything, if you don’t want to. I said we could pretend I never said it, and I meant that.” 

“You and I both know that’s not going to happen.” Zayn said quietly. 

Liam’s heart picked up speed as Zayn packed his bag with books, and pushed his chair back. 

“Time. I need some time to think.” 

“Okay,” Liam replied, packing his books. “I understand, I-” 

“Alone,” Zayn clarified, slinging his bag onto his shoulder. “I need time to think alone.” 

“Right,” Liam gulped, feeling his throat tighten. He’d never felt so out of control, emotions rising quickly in his eyes. It was the most intense feeling, though he couldn’t place just what it was. “Okay.” 

He watched as Zayn left the library, hoping to Merlin that he would turn back, just once. But he didn’t. 

He sat in the corner until Madam Pince came and put a soft hand on his shoulder, and reminded him that the library was closed. 

Liam had never cried in his life. Even when his childhood dog passed, he managed to keep himself held together. But for some reason, the gentle touch of someone who had no idea what was happening in his mind, was enough to break him. 

Tears came in earnest as Madam Pince lent him a handkerchief, and Liam was rightfully mortified to be accepting the librarian’s daisy-decorated doily, but he used it nonetheless. As soon as he was composed, he thanked the woman for her kindness, and practically ran home. 

He walked wordlessly into their shared room, where Louis was tucked into bed eating crisps. 

Liam placed his books on the desk a bit louder than he’d intended, pulled his sweater over his head, and tossed it on the floor carelessly. 

“You okay, mate?” Louis asked. 

“Not feeling well. Allergies,” Liam sniffled as he laid down, pulling the canopy curtains around his bed shut. 

Quietly, he pulled out his wand and cast a _Muffliato_ _,_ and cried for what felt like hours – until his head pounded and his eyes were sore. It was interesting to cry for so long, after never having cried in his life. It felt like each time he calmed himself down, he found a new reason for the tears to run again. 

At some point, he must have fallen asleep, because he woke up with a headache reverberating through his skull that _almost_ made him think of skipping class. He worried for what the day would look like, how he would even get through without thinking of what a monumental mistake he’d made. 

He panicked at the thought of seeing Zayn in the halls as he usually did on Mondays, while he was headed to his Transfiguration class – but the lad was nowhere to be found. The days following occurred similarly, and Liam didn’t see Zayn in any of their usual spots. 

Liam felt like someone had pressed a button on his brain, labeled, “drain.” His focus was shot to hell, and he couldn’t tell anyone why. Not without explaining, also, the small and insignificant fact that he was gay. 

Thankfully the incident occurred on Sunday night, and class wasn’t until Thursday. He hoped that those four full days would be enough time to get his shit together. 

The effect of those days hit hard, for activities that he never would have thought twice about. The dim light of the library no longer seemed romantic, but dull, and dismal. Their usual spot by the window was taken by two Hufflepuffs, who left and didn’t even _return their books_. He and Zayn used to make a game of who could return books the shelf the quickest... 

And here it was. This was exactly what he meant to avoid, and it was life without his best friend staring him in the face. 

Clearly, Zayn did not return his feelings, and was looking for a polite way to let Liam down. It was more than that, really, Liam had butchered whatever connection they had, romantic or otherwise. 

On Monday night after an hour of pretending to study in the library, he finally accepted defeat and studied in his room. 

Tuesday night, he didn’t even attempt, and napped in the Slytherin common room between classes. He didn’t step foot in the courtyard, and ate his lunch in an empty corridor. It was frigid, and each breath he took slightly burned in his nose, but he couldn’t face his friends yet. 

Wednesday was the worst. The day before class, he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. He looked and felt like shit. He went to bed around 6:00 pm, like his granddad would have. 

Around 9, the door opened. “Hey,” Louis said cautiously, creeping into the room. He’d noticed Liam’s behavior over the past days, but was keeping a safe distance. “How’re you, mate?” 

“I’m fine. Still not feeling well.” He rolled over on his side, facing the window. 

“Well, I said hello to Zayn on my way up, I haven’t seen him... Around much, lately.” 

“Yeah,” Liam said. He didn’t have the energy for much else. But he sat up quicker than lightning as he registered Louis’s words. “Wait, on your way up?” 

“When I saw him downstairs. He’s outside the common room, waiting on you, innit?” 

Liam shot out of bed and pulled his trainers on faster than he’s ever done anything before, not bothering to close the door behind him. He could hear Louis calling out behind him, but he would explain later. 

He took the stairs two at a time, pushing past students on their way to bed, trying not to fall and lose teeth on the way down. 

As the common room portrait came into view, he paused, and tried to catch his breath. He wondered what he must look like, hair disheveled, loosened tie, and rings under his eyes. He didn’t care. 

Liam stepped through the portrait and saw him, pacing the corridor. 

Their eyes met, and Zayn stood still. 

“Li,” He began, but Liam put up a hand to stop him. 

“I’m sorry,” He panted, still not able to slow his thumping heart. “I’m sorry, and I wish I could take it back. I don’t want to lose you.” 

“You want to take it back?” Zayn asked quietly, “Did you not mean it, then?” 

“No,” Liam swallowed. He took a few more steps to close some of the distance between them. “I did. I meant it.” 

“Then why would you take it back?” 

“Because!” Liam blurted, a little too loudly. “Because I haven’t been able to sleep. Because I’m so fucking _infuriated_ with myself for doing this, and I want everything to be normal again.” 

Zayn didn’t say anything. He just looked at Liam, brown eyes wide. 

It was a standoff, a _showdown_ to see who would speak first, and Liam wasn’t sure what winning would mean. 

Finally, Zayn took another step. “What if... What if I don’t want that?” 

A crack fell down the center of Liam’s chest. It burned something fierce, and though it seemed impossible with all the crying he had been doing, he felt water rise to his eyes. His shoulder slumped and he looked away. 

“You mean, you don’t want to be friends anymore.” 

Zayn shook his head. “No, I mean... What if I don’t want to go back to normal?” 

Now, Liam was confused. “I don’t understand?” 

Zayn closed the space between them almost completely, and sighed. 

“What if I want this too?” 

“I would be very happy,” Liam breathed. Is this what it felt like to be having a heart attack? 

“I just... I don’t know what would mean. I don’t know how to do this.” 

He slowly reached for Liam’s hand, and laced their fingers together. 

“We don’t have to change anything. Not yet. We can do whatever _we_ want, it can mean whatever we want it to mean.” 

“I think I want to kiss you.” Zayn met his gaze. “Is that okay?” 

Liam had to hold back a laugh, a true belly laugh. “Yes,” He nodded through tears. “That is more than okay.” 

All the rubbish you see in films, the kind where you watch two people fall in love, and you wait for two hours to _finally see them kiss,_ and when they do, the world slows. Time freezes, sparks begin shooting out around them, and everything else in the world seems to melt away? 

It wasn’t rubbish. 

He didn’t care who saw as he pulled Zayn’s body in and pressed their lips together, right there in the corridor. He’d never known something to feel so right. Liam’s heart drummed in his ears, pounding a steady beat that was his new favorite song. He could also feel Zayn’s beating through his shirt, and it gave Liam a pleasant feeling to know that he wasn’t alone; that Zayn felt the same way. 

It was messy, and hot, and a little scratchy, and it occurred to Liam that he was having his very first kiss. 

He’d waited sixteen years, and it was worth every second. 

When they drew back, Zayn laughed lightly, shy. He pulled his hands from Liam’s hair, where they had become entangled. 

“Well. We can’t take _that_ back.” 

“I never would. Not for anything.” 

•◈•

Nearly two years later, Liam _still_ loves Zayn Malik. He can’t remember a time when he didn’t, and frankly, he doesn’t want to. 

Not when the beautiful boy before him looked the way he did. Why would anyone want to give that up? 

“Liam-” Zayn whines, his fists bunched in the sheets. “Right there,” 

From his position between Zayn's legs, a ghost of a smile whispers on Liam’s face, and he crooks his fingers at the same angle that made Zayn cry out.

“Is that it?” He whispers, pressing a kiss to the inside of Zayn’s thigh. “Is that the one?” 

“Yes,” It’s so lovely, the way Zayn arches his back and whimpers for more. Liam strokes a finger down his side, stopping at the curve of his bum. “That’s it, Liam. _Fuck,_ _m’gonna_ _come_ ,” 

Liam stops immediately as he hears this, much to Zayn’s protest. 

“Oh, but you didn’t ask nicely, love.” 

“Please,” Zayn practically cries, tightening his grip on Liam’s hair. “Please you fucking _prat_ , let me come,” 

Liam clicks his tongue, withdrawing from Zayn completely. Zayn groans. “We can’t have that behavior, now can we?” 

He leaves Zayn lying there, and readjusts himself on the bed to tower over the boy. Zayn is truly gorgeous laid out like this, all flushed tan skin and taut muscles. A light layer of sweat covers his body, causing him to glisten ever so slightly. 

Liam leans and places small kisses on Zayn’s neck, stopping to breathe in the familiar scent of his hair. A hint of musk, and fresh laundry. “You smell so nice,” He comments, which brings a giggle out of Zayn. 

“You’re weird.” 

Liam beams, kissing him once more. No matter how many times they’re like this, it always feels like a privilege, that _he_ gets to be the one to see Zayn like this. Liam gets to kiss him wherever he pleases, gets to make him beg, to make Zayn plead as he comes undone. 

He takes Zayn’s cock in his hand, and Zayn moans into his mouth. His hips jerk up reflexively, and Liam returns down to his original position between his thighs, taking the head of Zayn’s cock into his mouth. 

“Oh,” Zayn gasps, reaching out against his thigh for Liam’s hand. He finds it and interlocks their fingers as Liam works his mouth up and down his shaft. His sounds are so beautiful to Liam, the way he attempts to form words but chokes off into a moan halfway through a thought. It makes him want to work ten times harder, to find every spot that will drive Zayn mad. 

“I love hearing you,” Liam mumbles. His own cock stands at attention, a swollen red, and twitching at the sound of Zayn’s cries. “I love _you.”_

_“I love you,”_ Zayn pants to the ceiling, his eyes shut against the pleasure. He tosses his head back onto the pillow, and groans as Liam takes him in all the way. “ _Merlin, I love you so much,-_ ” 

It’s tempting for Liam to just rut up against Zayn’s leg until he comes from the friction, but he holds off. 

“Y’want me to fuck you?” He asks as he comes up for air, grip still firm on Zayn’s cock. It's slick with spit and slides easily in Liam’s grasp. “Is that what you want?” 

He only nods, and Liam tightens his grip ever so slightly. To his delight, Zayn gasps. 

“I can’t hear you, Z.” 

“Yes.” He glances up, and after a thought, adds, “Yes, _please_. _”_

A wicked smile spreads across Liam’s face. “So polite now, aren’t we?” 

He’d been teasing Zayn for twenty minutes, and though it was incredibly hot, Liam would be lying to himself if he didn’t think he was nearing the end. On nights like this, his stamina seemed to fly out the window. 

Liam raises to his knees, allowing himself a moment to breathe, stroking himself to get some relief. 

He spots the bottle of discarded lube across the mattress, but instead holds the palm of his hand directly in front of Zayn’s mouth. 

“Spit,” He commands, and Zayn obeys wordlessly. 

He did love to get a bit filthy. 

When he finally pushes inside; it feels like bliss. Zayn wraps his legs around Liam’s bum, guiding him further in, which he knows for a fact drives Liam completely wild. 

_“Fuck_ ,” Liam confirms this with a soft swear, his head falling forward as he sinks further into the warmth. “You’re so _tight_ , fuck.” 

He pulls back slowly, admiring the obscene way Zayn’s body adjusts to him, and pushes back inside with a grunt. Gripping Zayn's hips, Liam leisurely begins moving back and forth that way, eventually speeding up with more confidence as Zayn whimpers those high, glorious sounds that Liam drinks up eagerly.

“Tell me how it feels,” Liam orders, brushing hair back from Zayn’s eyes. He loves when it’s fallen over like this, all stuck to his forehead in a pretty fringe. Liam smiles when he catches himself staring, as he always did. 

“It feels so fucking good,” Zayn whines, running his nails across the wide expanse of Liam’s back. 

Zayn drops his head back as Liam grasps his hips and fucks into him, hard. He can tell Zayn is about to come from the way he’s fallen silent, head back on the pillow with eyes shut tight. 

“Li, please, I'm gonna-” 

“Come,” Liam pants, but it’s less of a suggestion – more of a demand. He can feel his own orgasm creeping onto him, curling in his belly like fire. 

Then Zayn is pulling Liam in for a desperate kiss, rutting his hips up to meet Liam’s thrusts, whimpering into his mouth as his cock releases between them, spilling hotly onto his belly. 

Liam barely manages to fuck him through it, his hips snapping in a faltering rhythm as he whispers absolute _filth_ into Zayn's ear, unintelligible dirty words that Zayn might've understood if his mind wasn't drenched in a pleasure-filled fog; he nibbles on Liam's bottom lip weakly and _fuck,_ Liam is gone, letting his orgasm rock through his body. 

As they come down, all heaving chests and heavy breaths, Zayn lets out a strange, airy laugh. 

“Holy hell, _”_ Zayn says, a dopey smile on his face. “Where did all that come from?” 

“Not sure,” Liam shrugs, wondering himself. Their sex life was _miles_ from boring, but it wasn’t like Liam to be so rough, at least not on a school night. Zayn had actually come over under the pretense of studying, but it’s much too late for that now. “I don’t know, might’ve just been all the frustration from today. Louis and Styles are at it again.” 

Zayn adjusts himself so he's laying across Liam's body, their chests pressed together. He traces the lines of Liam's collarbones with his finger. “What’s going on there, anyway?” 

“Styles has always been a prick, but he’s really been going after Louis lately. The Quidditch match, Potions. I already suggested he go to McGonagall, but he doesn’t want anyone to get involved.” 

"Stubborn."

Liam nods. "You're telling me."

“I still don’t understand why Styles actually hates Louis that much. It seems... random.” 

“It’s not, not really.” 

Zayn sits up. “What do you know that I don’t?” 

“Nothing, it’s just - it’s got to be more difficult than that. It almost always is. I feel like there’s something Louis isn’t telling me, but every time I ask him about it, he gets closed-off and defensive. I hate seeing him like this.” 

“He’ll come around, Li. I know he will. It makes sense that he’s angry. Styles won’t get off his back.” 

Liam lets out a noncommittal _hmph_ in agreement. 

Eventually, Zayn sighs happily, and moves to swing his legs over the side of the bed. “I should probably get dressed.” 

Liam pouts, leaning over to catch Zayn’s hand before he can get away. “Where are you going so quickly?” 

“Won't Lou be home soon?” 

“I haven’t seen him since Potions, he never came to lunch. I’m assuming he’s with El. Cuddle me.” 

“I will not, you’re filthy. And so am I.” 

“Shower?” 

Zayn’s eyebrow lifts. “You want me to sneak you into my shower, so we can do the exact opposite of getting clean?” 

Liam is only _slightly_ sore that Zayn became Head Boy, and had access to the Prefects' bathroom, he did not. But it was fine, Liam reasoned. He would simply become top of the class before term was done, and Zayn could keep his fancy bathroom. 

“Yes. That is exactly what I want.” 

Zayn purses his lips once, as if it were something he’d have to seriously consider. 

“I’ll have to get back to you on that.” 

“Bullshit. Get your clothes on.” 

Zayn wants to point out the irony in putting his clothes on to race to the bath where he’d only take them off again, but catches the jumper Liam throws at his head with a grin. 

•◈•

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I hope you enjoyed this bit, I sincerely enjoyed writing it. There was also a bit more... intensity to it, which was also fun for me.  
> With everything going on currently, I'll have loads more time on my hands, which means more time to write, so be on the lookout! The next part may come sooner than you think...  
> Thanks again for reading, your kudos/comments make my heart a huge happy face. Thanks for being cool. xx


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A flea can trouble a lion more than a lion can trouble a flea."

•◈•

 _The Great Hall is far larger than his mother described._

_Bigger, and louder, and even more beautiful than anything he’d ever seen before._

_Harry shifts uncomfortably, the weight of his brand-new robes unfamiliar to him. They’re also incredibly itchy, which is rubbish. He’s got to wear itchy robes for the next seven years._

_He glances around apprehensively. In the thirty seconds in which they’ve stood in this clump, it seems like everyone around him has already made a friend, talking a mile a minute, leaving him to biting his nails._

_Remembering all the times his father called him out on his disgusting habit, he removes his hands from his mouth._

**_“Harry, if I catch your fingers in your mouth again, I will turn them into paws. Is this understood?”_ **

_Harry did. He’d kicked the habit years ago, but today was so nerve-wracking, he couldn’t help it._

_Everything in him was saying to make friends, to make a new start, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Instead he began listening to the boys directly to his left, chattering about which house they would belong to._

_“My mother was a Ravenclaw, but my father was a Slytherin. I think I’ve got good odds either way.” The first boy says proudly._

_“I’m not sure what those are, but they both sound nice.”_

_“I forgot, you’re Muggle-born! This must be so exciting for you!”_

_The second boy sighs deeply, nodding. He seems more than a little overwhelmed._

_“Remind me again of the houses?”_

_“There’s Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff.”_

_“If I remember right, Slytherin sounds the most like...me.”_

_Before he can remember his manners, Harry lets out a snort. He immediately regrets it. Two heads immediately whip in his direction._

_“Did you have something to say?” The first boy inquires. Harry looks up to meet his face. He’s a bit pudgy and has wide brown eyes, a bit like an eager puppy. He looks nice enough. They might’ve been friends if Harry hadn’t opened his stupid mouth._

_He swallows.“It’s just – Slytherin isn’t meant for_ _non-Purebloods_ _.”_

_“W-what does that mean?” The second boy asks his friend. This one has bright blue eyes, and straight caramel hair that falls a bit over his eye. Harry notices how disheveled his robes are._

_The first boy rolls his eyes. “It doesn’t mean anything, Louis. Not a thing. All it really means is not everyone is accepting-” He shoots daggers from his eyes at Harry- “Of everyone here.”_

_“Oh, we have plenty of that in the Muggle world.” Louis nods. “But why wouldn’t they accept everybody here? We’ve all got... We’ve all got the same magic in us, right?”_

_“It’s not that,” Harry clarifies. He isn’t trying to be mean, but it’s clear he’s said something hurtful from the way this Louis boy has furrowed his eyebrows. “Salazar Slytherin, he intended for Slytherin House to be made up of Pureblood wizards and witches. S’nothing personal, it’s just how he wanted it.”_

_This stops conversation completely, and the second boy turns his gaze to the floor. Nice one, Harry._

_“It doesn’t mean you won’t get sorted into what’s right for you, Louis.” The first boy says after a moment of thought, placing a kind hand on his shoulder. The second boy looks up with a small smile._

_“It just means it’s highly unlikely that it’ll be Slytherin.” Harry explains. “Again, nothing personal.”_

_The first boy opens his mouth to retort, but is silenced by the booming voice of Minerva McGonagall._

_She stands tall, her posture impossibly straight. She commands the attention of the Great Hall with very little effort._

_“Welcome, students!” She says. “To our first-years, I am Headmaster_ _McGonagall_ _. I welcome you to Hogwarts.”_

_Harry needs no introduction to the Headmaster, as he would recognize her anywhere. His mother was great friends with McGonagall, as she was a favorite student of the teacher during her time at_ _Hogwarts_ _. There were photos posted all over Harry’s home that featured the two of them, arm in arm, in a fit of laughter._

_The grey-haired woman unravels the long piece of parchment in her hand. “When I call your name, you shall come forth, I will place the Sorting Hat upon your head, and you will be sorted into your houses.”_

_“The Hat sorts you?” Louis whispers incredulously.“Really?”_

_“Yes,” His friend whispers back.“Don’t worry, it doesn't hurt or anything.”_

_Now Harry is the one to roll his eyes. Did he know anything of the school he was to spend the next seven years of his life at? Harry could recite half of the History of Hogwarts._

_McGonagall_ _places the Hat onto a rickety wooden stool, and begins calling names._

_Harry peeks through his_ _peripheral_ _, noticing how the blue-eyed boy’s eyes grow wider upon sight of the Hat. That, he could understand. The ghastly thing was a bit creepy-looking._

_Harry listens through every name, his heart accelerating which each letter that comes closer to ‘S.’_

_“Liam Payne.” She reads, and the pudgy friend steps up the wooden stool._

_The Headmaster places the Hat onto his head, and it doesn’t take long for it to come to a decision._

_“Hm... Right, of course....” The Hat ponders aloud. “It has to be... Slytherin!”_

_Liam Payne’s smile stretches across his entire face as the audience claps, and Harry claps along with them through his surprise. He watches as the boy takes a seat among the rest of his house, and is itchy with anticipation to join them._

_He recalls back to just a few days ago, when he was rooting through his father’s chest of memorabilia, searching until he found his worn-out uniform folded neatly towards the bottom._

_Knotting the tie roughly around his neck, Harry slung the robe over his shoulders. The image that reflected in the mirror was almost identical to his father’s when he was Harry’s age, he knew as much from pictures. His fingers brushed lightly over the thread of the Slytherin insignia, the emerald and silver_ _colours_ _which brought out the hue of his eyes. He brings to mind every story he’d ever heard from his mother and father, every time he was told, “Slytherin will present you with the best opportunities. Do not let them pass you by.”_

_The students left to sort dwindle down to a handful, himself and the_ _Muggleborn_ _boy among them. Harry notes how he wrings his hands nervously, eyes darting back and forth between the students and the chair. Honestly, he’ll most likely end up with the Hufflepuffs, and do well there. They’ll accept him with open arms and never look back._

_A few more names come and go, a Ravenclaw, two Hufflepuff, a Slytherin. Then it comes, the moment he’d been dreading._

_“Harry Styles,” McGonagall calls, her eyes recognizing him immediately in what’s left of the crowd. She gives him a tight, small smile, encouraging him to move._

_There’s a lump in his throat, but he swallows past it and walks toward the stool. Each step he takes feels heavy, like his feet are made of lead._

_He feels McGonagall’s hand on his shoulder as he takes a seat, and she squeezes once. It’s comforting._

_Harry finds the Muggle boy’s eyes, wide with wonder. Harry’s heart thumps so wildly it threatens to jump from his chest._

_The Sorting Hat finally lands on his head, and Harry immediately feels it curl._

_“Ah,” It sighs. Harry wills himself not to look as terrified as he feels. “Interesting, very interesting.”_

_He can sense the brim of the Hat flexing back and forth, into what he can imagine is pensive facial expressions._

_“This one is..._ ** _Gryffindor!_** _”_

_Harry’s heart stops._

_It comes to a complete standstill in his chest, his stomach churning violently._

_When he stands, it’s with help of a gentle push from_ _McGonagall_ _._

_Harry quickly realizes that he isn’t even sure which table belongs to the Gryffindors. His hands begin to tremble, and he hides them in the folds of his robes, looking ahead to find students in scarlet and gold waving him down._

_Numbly, he sits in an open space at the long table, deaf to any congratulations that were hurling his way from his new housemates._

_This can’t be happening._

_How often did the Hat make a mistake? Should he bring it up now before it was too late? Or wait until he could privately tell the Headmaster he didn’t belong here, not in a million years -_

_“Louis Tomlinson.”_

_Harry’s head picks up when he hears the name.The blue-eyed boy was directly after him._

_He walks tentatively up to the stool, waving a shy hello to_ _McGonagall_ _. She gives him the same tight smile as she places the Hat upon his head._

_If you could say the thing had eyebrows, they jumped. A slight confusion washed over the Hat before it spoke._

_“Well, well...Complicated one, aren’t we?”_

_Louis Tomlinson isn’t doing as good a job at hiding the fear in his face._

_“This is... Quite the debate....” The Hat appears vexed. It falls silent, only its expressions giving its thoughts away._

_Thirty seconds long seconds go by, then onto a full minute, stretching into what feels like an eternity of silent contemplation._

_The longer the Hat takes, the more whispers start up from the students surrounding him -_

**_“Why is it taking so long?”_ **

**_“I think he’s a_** ** _Hatstall_** ** _!”_ **

_It’s abundantly clear that the boy doesn’t love being the center of attention. His knee begins to bounce ever so slightly, and he seems to be whispering something – to himself, or the Hat, Harry can’t tell._

_The Hat continues to deliberate, making a noise every few moments that everyone holds their breath for, thinking it’s made a choice – but returns to his thoughts._

_“Fascinating, truly... It could be...Though not quite...”_

_Louis whispers something once more, and the Hat chuckles._

_“That does help me... There you have it..._

_...It must be..._

**_Slytherin_** _!”_

_Harry’s jaw hits the floor._

_The mass of students roar, whooping and hollering at the decision._

_Another painful jab swirls through his stomach as he witnesses the boy stride over to the Slytherin table, where his pudgy friend – Liam – catches him in a massive hug. The very table Harry’s parents sat at, his grandparents before them - the table he was meant to sit at himself._

_A_ _Muggleborn_ _._

_Not even a half-blood, but a_ _Muggleborn_ _wizard placed in Slytherin, and he, for reasons he couldn't even begin to understand, was sat with the Gryffindors._

_Harry’s heart catches in his throat as he thinks of his father’s old Slytherin pennant that’s tucked away in his trunk._

_Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry._

_Tears build in his eyes._

_Harry's fingernails dig into the palm of his hand. This must be a bad dream. He must’ve fallen asleep on the train, and his brain was playing a nasty trick on him._

_He squeezes his eyes shut, and keeps them closed for ten seconds. It’s horrifying when he opens them again to the same scene, when he’s still sat across the room from the Slytherin table._

_What did he even know about the Gryffindors? Harry tries his hardest to think of anything he may already know of his new house, but comes up frightfully short._

_Every bit of knowledge is clouded by Slytherin, by emerald and silver, by serpents and Pureblood wizards._

_Suddenly, the empty wooden tables fill with mountains of food, and his classmates eagerly dig in, but Harry can’t bring himself to eat. He can’t bring himself to speak, to move from the very spot he's in._

_Once the feast draws to a close, he finds himself marching blindly behind his housemates, noting how the Slytherins make a left where the Gryffindors go right. He knows exactly where they’re headed, down to the dungeon dormitories that Harry could draw a map of, if he was asked to._

_Instead he’s led up a grand stone staircase that shifts with every flight, taking him higher and higher until they’ve got their room assignments._

_Gryffindor Tower, it was called. The common room was lit by the fireplace in the center, casting a warm glow across the walls. Bold red drapes hang from the ceiling, and thick quilts were folded upon the sofas. It was cozy, and home-like, but nothing like the grey stoned walls and green ambiance he imagined would surround him when he pictured himself studying._

_It felt like being an intruder, an outsider, looking at the four walls of a room he never thought he'd see._

_It was slightly robotic, the way he followed suit to his instructions, still reeling from the initial shock – he made it all the way to his room where his trunks were waiting, and collapsed into bed._

_Letters. There was going to have to be a letter written to his father to tell him of the night’s events._

_He would have to disappoint his father through a letter; letting him know that it didn’t matter that Harry was Pureblooded,_

_It didn’t matter that both his mother and father were popular Slytherins during their time at Hogwarts, that his father was the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team -_

_Harry was a Gryffindor._

•◈•

The following Sunday brings a slight crisp to the air, a little more chill than a standard September day, but it doesn’t slow any of the plans they’ve got for Niall’s birthday. 

Louis is immensely proud of Liam for keeping the secret – the boy couldn’t hold water and usually got weird and giggly whenever he was around someone who wasn’t supposed to know something that he knew. 

Louis considered keeping the plan hidden from him completely, but he needed Zayn’s help if he was going to pull it off; there was no way he was going to keep the party a secret _and_ spend that much extra time with Zayn without an explanation. 

They were sat in the courtyard, the four of them – Liam and Elowen bearing witness to an epic, 45-minute-long debate. 

“Lou,” Zayn sighs, heavily, like he already knows this battle is one he’s going to lose. “You’re asking me to abuse my power, and I can’t do that.” 

“Zee, what’s the good in being Head Boy if you don’t break the rules every once in a while?” says Louis. He’s using his best pout, to no avail. 

Zayn shakes his head. “That is actually, believe it or not, the whole point in being Head Boy, Louis.” 

“But it’s just a _party!”_ Louis groans. 

_“A party_ that you want to hold in the Room of Requirement, you dolt.” Liam comments. “There’s no way you’ll get him to agree to this.” 

“I think it’s bloody brilliant,” El chimes in. “It’s virtually untraceable, the Room would literally provide anything you _Required_ for the party.” 

“ _Thank you!”_

_“_ Naturally you think it’s brilliant, you’re always down to party.” says Zayn. 

“If that is my one defining characteristic, I am perfectly fine with that.” Elowen replies with a cheeky shrug. 

“Why would you even tell us that you knew where the Room was if you weren’t going to let us reap the benefits?” Louis whines, kicking his feet out like a child throwing a tantrum. 

“I wasn’t telling you so you could formulate a master plan, I stumbled upon it by _accident.”_

“You’ve been the picture perfect role model for seven years, Zayn, one party on your watch won’t be the downfall of your _great career_ as a Prefect. Think of what a top lad Niall is, how much he deserves this! Do it for _N_ _iall_ _!”_

“How many people, Louis?” Zayn asks abruptly.

Louis pauses, taken aback. He didn’t expect to get this far. “I dunno, like, ten maybe-” 

“ _Maybe_ ten, or ten?” 

“Ten.” 

“What’s the plan?” 

“I was thinking I would take him to Three Broomsticks. We’ll go and pre-game while you guys set up, we’ll be super careful coming back, and then we surprise him with the ultimate party.” 

Zayn massages at his temples with two fingers. “What about the noise, Louis. The noise might be a slight giveaway.” 

“Easy. _Muffliato_.” Louis grins. He was going to win this, yet. 

Zayn looks at Liam for assistance, who throws his hands up defensively, as if to say, _‘I am not getting in the middle of this.’_

“Fine,” Zayn finally succumbs. He takes a deep breath through his nose, as though he was already feeling like he was going to regret this, “But no more than ten people.” 

“Yes!” Louis jumps up, “Oh, _f_ _uck_ yes, Zee, this is going to be _amazing_. I was thinking maybe you could get your mate Aiden would DJ, he’s always been really good. Played the Slytherin party last year, and he was _on_ it. Banger after banger.” 

“Louis, ten people don’t need a DJ.” Zayn says sternly. 

“As if we’re all going to stand there and look at each other? Zayn, we need to be able to dance. And for that, we _need_ music _._ ” 

•◈•

Alright, so there were a _few_ more than ten. 

Not many parties were successful in the castle, as you kind of had to know someone from every house in order for it to really work out. 

You needed a Hufflepuff to get food from the kitchens, usually a Slytherin to bribe the Prefects to look the other way for the night, a Ravenclaw for the special-effects Charms, and a Gryffindor for the wild cards – say what you wanted about the house, but they knew how to party. All in all, they were normally more hassle than they were worth. 

But as it turned out, Niall was incredibly loved – across all four houses, he had friends interested in helping make the night successful. The word had escaped somehow that a party was brewing, which in itself was enough to pique the interest students who weren’t involved, but wanted in on the action. 

(Louis did _not_ take responsibility for that. He had only invited the ten people, as he promised Zayn. It wasn’t his fault if those ten people _also_ required a plus-one.) 

The first phase of his plan went off without a hitch, Niall completely game for a few pints on a Saturday night, as Louis knew he would be.

They’d spent some time at Broomsticks, under the disguise of Louis simply wanting to catch up with Niall – which wasn’t entirely untrue. Louis was happy to have a few hours with Niall before everything got too crazy, before they’re too drunk to remember each other’s names. 

“’S crazy that my birthday is tomorrow,” says Niall after his third pint, his words slightly slurred. “We’re getting a bit old now, aren’t we?” 

That same familiar twinge of anxiety blooms in his chest when Louis thinks about how many Hogsmeade trips are left in his time at Hogwarts, but he washes that away with a Butterbeer and does his best to focus on right _now._

_“_ You’re not on death’s door, Nialler,” Louis muses, elbowing his friend lightly in the ribs. “I bet you’ve got at least a _few_ more years.” 

“You’re right,” Niall agrees firmly. He clumsily raises his glass. “To not being on death’s door,” 

Louis laughs but clinks their glasses together anyhow, and finishes off what’s remaining of his drink. “Think that’s a good note to end the night on, yeah? Got Quidditch practice in the morning.” 

Niall nods and slams the rest of his pint, flashing a toothy grin at Louis. “Thanks for bringing me out, Tommo. Means a lot to me.” 

A flood of warmth rushes through Louis’s heart to hear Niall say that, but he doesn’t let it show. “Right then, don’t go getting soft on me,” he smiles. 

They’re a bit tipsier than Louis had anticipated, so the journey back to Hogwarts is much slower, consisting of Louis casually sheepherding Niall in an attempt to hurry him along.

By the time they reach the castle, it’s already well past curfew, so they walk on light feet through the corridors, speaking in hushed tones. 

“Lou, you’re not that drunk, are ya? Where you going?” Niall asks as Louis continues walking past their usual staircase, leading them away from their route back to the dormitories. 

“Wanted to show you something,” Louis responds, reveling in his own cleverness. Niall really has no idea where they’re going. He gives Louis a strange look, but takes after Louis’s lead nonetheless. 

They keep on in silence, and Niall manages to make it to the seventh floor without asking any more questions, but that seems to be his breaking point. 

“Louis, honestly, what are we doing?” Niall follows behind him still, but cautiously. 

“Trust me,” Louis insists, scanning up and down the hallway for what he’s looking for. 

Louis nearly misses it, but eventually he spots the key Zayn told him to watch for; a tapestry depicting Barnabas the Barmy attempting to teach trolls how to dance the ballet. 

The wall directly opposite of the tapestry is as unassuming as the rest of the castle – bare, cold stone. But if Louis is right, there should be a party of all their closest friends lying in wait behind it. 

“Lou, it’s cold. What t’hell is going on?” 

It feels incredibly foolish, but Louis recalls to mind the elaborate directions Zayn gave him to gain entrance to the Room. 

_“You have to walk past it three times, and really concentrate on what you need. For you, it’ll be a door to the party.” Zayn laid out carefully. “Try to have your thoughts be as specific as possible. “A door to Niall’s surprise party,’ should do it.”_

Louis hones in on the spot where the door _should_ appear, focuses his mind, and walks past it twice before Niall laughs outright. 

“Louis! What’re you _doing?”_

Ignoring his friend, Louis turns to make one final pass in front of the room, and thinks as hard as he can, 

_Niall’s surprise party. Niall’s surprise party._

Not that he doubted Zayn in the slightest, but it does make his heart pound with anticipation when a door does in fact appear in the stone. 

A grin spreads across his face, as he turns to meet Niall, who looks positively _bewildered._

Louis cocks his head in the direction of the door. “Well c’mon then. Can’t just stand there all night. If there’s a door, we walk through it.” 

Niall points to the door in question, and Louis nods eagerly, standing out of his way; encouraging him to take the few steps and pull the door open himself. 

Cautiously, Niall pulls on the handle; as soon as he steps foot in the room, a crowd of their friends appear, faux-fireworks beginning to blast across the ceiling, their sparks reading, 

**HAPPY BIRTHDAY NIALL!**

The colors are vivid as they flash, dazzling and beautiful. The words eventually morph into shapes, into a dozen smiley faces and sparkling comets that chase each other around the room. 

“What’s all this?” Niall asks incredulously, his face aglow from the glittering lights. “This is all for _me?_ ” 

_“_ Of course it is!" Louis laughs. "Happy birthday, mate!” 

The high ceiling of the Room has been enchanted to look like a star-studded night sky, shooting stars falling across every few seconds. 

A group of Hufflepuffs come over and pull Niall away, his girlfriend among them. 

Louis notices that Zayn had in fact managed to get Aiden to DJ, a booth set up in the far corner to accommodate him. Even the booth seemed to be enchanted, with light coming from the speakers that pulsated in time with the beat; switching between various shades of blue. 

Louis doesn't recognize whatever it is that Aiden is playing, but it’s a hit. The bass is smooth and upbeat, the vibrations running through Louis’s body. Everybody is dancing. 

Glancing around the room, Louis sees that everything is _perfect_ , exact to his plan, except for one minor detail. 

Harry Styles stood in the corner, sipping from a goblet and chatting up some Ravenclaw girl. 

Louis suppresses the immediate urge he has to go over and spill something on the boy, and instead pushes through a few people to get to Zayn and Liam. They’ve found a secluded spot off to the side to dance – if you could call it dancing. Louis ignores the strangeness of approaching what was essentially G-rated dry humping. 

“ _Louis!”_ Zayn shouts when he sees him, clearly _pissed,_ tossing himself to hug him. “What do you think? The fireworks were bloody _brilliant_ , yeah?” 

“It’s fucking amazing, Zee,” Louis grins, which falters for a second as he asks, “What the hell is Styles doing here?” 

“’M not sure, he came with some of the other Gryffindors,” Zayn yells back, shrugging. “We didn’t want to cause any issues, so we let him stay. He hasn’t bothered anyone.” 

Louis begins to reply, but is cut off by Niall bouncing over to sling an arm around his shoulder. 

_“IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!”_ He hollers, gyrating his hips in a way that is positively horrendous and hilarious, and Louis laughs heartily. Somehow Niall’s already got a goblet in his hand, filled with a sparkling blue liquid. 

“You’ve got to try this Lou, it tastes like – like, _liquid fucking happiness.”_

_“_ Sounds too good to pass up, I’ll be sure to get one,” Louis replies, but Niall is already handing his over. 

“Take mine, I’ll go get another. Now fucking _dance._ It’s my BIRTHDAY!” 

Louis takes a sip – he’s surprised to find that it fits Niall’s description rather well. The drink slides smoothly down his throat, fizzing pleasantly like a champagne would back in the Muggle world, but feeling... Alive, somehow. It’s completely delicious and Louis can taste no trace of alcohol, which was incredibly dangerous. He could drink these all night. 

“About time you got here,” Elowen suddenly appears beside him, replacing the empty goblet in his hand with a full one. She looks like a dream, dressed in a tight black dress that’s iridescent when it catches the light, like a snake’s scales. It hugs her frame in a way that's making a few of the lads around him stare, and Louis doesn't blame them. Elowen was undoubtedly the most beautiful girl in school, though maybe Louis is biased.

“Come on,” She’s dragging him by the crook of his arm to the center of the dance floor, guiding his hands down to grip her waist. 

“I’ve missed you,” Elowen whispers in his ear, changing the swivel of her hips as the song changes. “Feel like I've barely seen you, lately,” 

“’M here now, love,” He smiles in response. “You look fucking unbelievable.” 

The shy smile that comes to her face tells Louis that maybe he should tell her more often. 

She catches his mouth in a deep kiss with an abruptness that is surprising to Louis; Elowen maintained her reputation as a pretty private person, and public displays of affection were definitely not her style. Not that she was prudish, but they hadn’t quite... Gone _all the way_ yet. 

But Louis kisses her back, because it’s a party, and _who bloody cares._

“ _Someone_ tastes like Firewhiskey,” Louis comments as he pulls away. 

Elowen tosses her head back in a laugh.

“I _may_ have done some shots with one of the Gryffindors,” She admits coyly, and Louis notices the flush on her cheeks. “You should do some too!” 

Louis beams. Who is he to say no to _shots?_

•◈• 

They drink Firewhiskey and the mysterious sparkling blue punch until Louis literally cannot feel his face.

A thin layer of sweat covers his forehead, slicking his hair to the nape of his neck. He can’t tell how long they’ve been dancing, and it may just be the alcohol, but Louis’s feet have gone numb as well. 

“I’ll be back,” Louis mumbles. “’M gonna get some air.” 

Elowen nods sluggishly, a sweet, drunk smile on her face; she dances over to Liam and Zayn, who gladly take her hand and spin her in a circle. 

In the dark, Louis fumbles along the wall where he thinks the exit should be, wondering why this Room has to be so _strange_ , wishing a door out would just _appear,_ and then it _does._

Smiling at himself, he wanders out of the room, staggering a bit down the hall, catching himself on the stones for support. He still has no idea what was in the drink that Niall kept pushing into his hand, but it’s done quite the number on him. 

It’s a good job someone had remembered to cast the Muffliato, because in the cold air of the hallway, the only thing Louis can hear is the shuffle of his own steps. 

He plops into a divot in the wall, a high stone archway with a ledge and space enough for him to lean back and rest his feet. There’s a quiet but steady _thump thump thump_ happening in his head, and he wishes the ground would stop spinning as hard as it was. 

“Aren’t you cold?” A voice brings Louis out of his thoughts. He’s more than a little surprised to look up and find Harry Styles, a golden and scarlet scarf wrapped tight around his neck. 

“ _Pssssssh_ _,”_ Louis snorts. “’M not cold.” 

Harry doesn't seem convinced. “You’re going to get sick. You’re not even wearing a coat.” 

Louis looks down and realizes that Harry’s right, that he must’ve left his jumper inside - Louis waves him off anyway. 

“What do _you_ care if I get sick, S-Styles?” 

Harry stiffens, crossing his arms. “You’re my Potions partner, idiot. Don’t want you sneezing all over me tomorrow in class.” 

“Whatever. You don’t you have – _hic_ – a-anywhere else to be?” Fantastic. Now he has the bloody hiccups.

“S’too loud in there. I needed air.” 

“No one is forcing you to be here.” Louis scoffs. “You weren’t even _invited_. Why’d you come, anyway? 

“No one is going to say no to free booze, Tomlinson. Not even to avoid your gangly group.” 

“That is _very_ rude of you to say. You don’t - _hic_ \- _need to be so rude._ ” 

“’M not being rude, just answering your stupid questions.” 

They’re quiet for a while, Louis admiring the way the moon casts a gentle glow on the castle halls, Harry leaning with one foot kicked back against the wall and eyes half-lidded. 

It crosses Louis’s mind that this is the longest they’ve ever been near each other outside of a classroom, the longest they’ve spoken about something unrelated to an assignment. 

Louis eventually breaks the silence. “C-Can I ask you another stupid question?” 

“I have a feeling you’re going to, whether or not I say yes.” 

“Why… Why do you hate me?” Louis huffs sadly. He rests his arms on his knees, drawing them close to save some warmth. It _is_ bloody cold. “All I’ve ever done is – is _admire you,_ Styles. You’re like, everybody’s favorite. I’m not _anyone’s_ favorite.” 

Harry’s eyebrows jump into his hairline. He examines Louis for a long moment, watching as the boy shudders in the chilled air. Harry sighs, deeply, before unwrapping the scarf from around his neck, and taking a careful seat next to Louis on the ledge. Wordlessly, he pushes the scarf in Louis’s direction. 

Louis glances to his left confusedly, and Harry rolls his eyes. “Just put it on, or you’re going to be ill tomorrow.” 

If he had any functioning brain left in his skull, Louis may have thought how completely ridiculous it was that he was wearing a Gryffindor scarf, _Harry Styles’_ Gryffindor scarf, but he puts it on anyhow, grateful for the way Harry’s warmth seems to have lingered in the fabric, like it’s just come out of the dryer. 

It’s an absurd picture, the two of them squeezed awkwardly in a hole in the wall in the middle of the night. 

“I don’t hate you.” Harry finally replies after a long beat. 

Louis looks to Harry with utter disbelief. “ _Bullshit._ You’ve always hated me, right from that first day - even though we _could_ have been friends. We could have gotten on so well, had a proper lovely – _hic_ _–_ friendship.” 

It seems odd to Harry that Louis would even remember that very first day, what with all the excitement of Louis’ new surroundings… Harry didn’t think Louis remembered their first encounter at all. 

“Well, if my father knew you, he'd be a great fan of yours.” Harry chuckles bitterly. “Honestly, he’s a fan of anyone, as long as you’re not me.” 

“Oh, fuck _right_ _off_ with that. I don’t – _hic_ – believe that.” Louis slurs. His head is really pounding now, and Harry is swaying slightly. Or is the room? He can’t tell. “Perfect _Harry Styles, the_ _perfect Gryffindor,_ the perfect – _hic_ _–_ w _-_ wizard for anyone.” 

Harry’s brows knit together as his gaze hardens. “Not according to my father, but you can believe what you’d like.” 

“ _As if_ any father would be disappointed in someone like you.” Louis shakes his head. “As if _I_ _’_ _ve_ got anything to show for seven years in this bloody – _hic_ – school.” 

“Do you think I’ve got it easy? I’d like to see you–” Harry starts, his voice rising to take the usual mocking tone it did when they fought; but Louis holds a hand up to interrupt him. 

“I refuse to fight with you today, Styles,” Louis points a finger, poking Harry in the chest lightly. “Won’t do it. I am _waaaaay_ too drunk for this.”

Then Louis is on his feet, but he rises too quickly and black spots dance back and forth in his vision. He loses his balance, teetering over and catching himself on Harry’s arm. 

Louis’ heart pounds. “S-sorry. I didn’t mean to.” 

Harry stands to help Louis straighten, releasing his grip only for Louis to fall again, this time completely collapsing into Harry’s arms. 

“I don’t need your help,” He grumbles, trying to shove Harry’s hand away. “Honestly, Styles. I'm – _hic_ – f-fine.” 

“You should go back to Slytherin dorms. You shouldn’t drink anymore.” 

“I will do exactly what I want to, Styles. You don’t get to tell me what to do.” He’s being childish, he knows it, but he can’t help the words from spilling out of his mouth.

“ _Who goes there?”_ A voice echoes, bouncing off the other end of the stone of the corridor. “ _Who’s_ _down_ _there?”_

“Merlin’s fucking beard _,”_ Harry swears quietly. 

“What is it?” Louis whispers, squinting to see what Harry sees. The moon is out tonight, but barely, only casting small strips of silver to leak in where the windows lay. 

“It’s a bloody Prefect. We’ve got to go. _Now_.” He grabs ahold of Louis by the arm, pulling him along the wall and around the corner. Louis’s steps falter a bit, so he’s half skipping to keep up with Harry’s long strides. 

_“Move faster,”_ Harry hisses, practically dragging Louis behind him. 

“’M moving as fast – _hic_ – as I can,” 

Down a third corridor they find a similar divot in the wall, one positioned a little higher up this time, and Harry gives Louis a light boost so he can climb into it. 

“Get in, and be quiet,” Harry whispers, hopping up on long limbs. They’re stood nose to nose, Harry’s hands firm on Louis's bicep to keep him from swaying. 

Louis giggles, biting on his lip hard to keep from bursting out laughing. He doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be upright. 

"What are you laughing for?" Harry hisses. 

He looks so serious, it only makes Louis giggle harder. The crease between Harry's brow has furrowed deep, and Louis is nearly on the brink of tears, it's so funny.

"I - I am _so_ drunk."

Harry promptly places his palm over Louis’ mouth. 

“I'm well aware," He replies. "Be quiet.” 

When Louis hears steps approaching, the smile leaves his face, his heart drumming. 

In all his time at Hogwarts, he’d never gotten in trouble – not for anything _big,_ at least. Did he get detention a few times for making out with El in the common room a few minutes past curfew? Maybe. 

Getting caught in the hallway at this hour, as drunk as he was? Might be cause for a little more than detention. 

“ _Hello?”_ The voice calls once more, stepping down their corridor. It’s a girl, but Louis can’t place who. “ _Lumos_ _.”_

The two boys hold their breath as they catch sight of the light coming from her wand, her shadow growing larger with each step. 

Louis glances up at Harry, whose alarmed expression makes Louis even more worried. He shakes his head and mouths a quick, 

_Don’t move._

The Prefect stops a few short feet away from where they’re stood, and Louis watches as the shadow peers down the hallway before shrugging, and the light retreating as she goes down the hallway from which she came. 

They stand in silence for a solid minute, to really make sure that the coast is clear, and Harry releases a sigh of relief. 

“Merlin, that was close. We need to get out of here before she comes our way again.” He steps down from the ledge, and offers Louis a hand. 

Louis sucks in a dramatic breath. “What – We c-can’t just leave everyone at the party. They – _hic –_ they're going to get busted as soon as they come out of the Room,” Louis slurs. Godric, he was absolutely _pissed_. 

“That Prefect is going to bust _us_ as soon as we try to go back there.” 

“Waitwaitwait.” His words are all blurring together, it hardly feels like he’s speaking _English_ anymore, “J-just give me one second, Styles.” 

Louis pulls out his wand. It’s been a while since he’s attempted to do magic while drunk, and he’s never been quite _this_ drunk before, but he puts all the focus he can muster into this one spell, and prays that it works. 

_“_ ** _Expecto P_** ** _atronum_** _!”_

It takes a few worrying moments, but fragments of silver light from the end of his wand spark to life, shooting into the air and coming together to form Louis’ Patronus. It hops into view; an excited fox that trots in a circle above their heads before sitting in front of the two of them with its head cocked. 

_“Yes!”_ Louis cheers, forgetting the whole, you know, _hiding_ aspect of the moment. He lowers his voice to deliver his message. 

“Liam – _hic_ _– Be really, really_ careful when you come out of the Room. There’s a P-Prefect patrolling, she’s already suspicious that something is up. ‘M going to – _hic_ – bed now.” 

With one final clumsy flick of his wrist, the fox swirls into the air and dashes through the wall behind them. 

Louis stows his wand away, thankful for whatever sense he had remaining that allowed him to do that. 

As much as he hates to admit Styles being right, Louis has officially moved on from the stage of pleasant drunkenness he was in. Everything around him has been spinning for far too long, and it was beginning to make him nauseous. “ _Now_ we can go.” 

Harry’s mouth is agape. 

Louis’ eyes squint in suspicion. “What’re you looking at me like that for?” 

“What in the hell was that?” 

“You can’t be that daft, Styles. It was my _Patronus_.” 

“I know it was a bloody _Patronus_ ,” Harry’s voice goes up at the end as he mocks the lilt in Louis’ accent. “But what did you just do?” 

“Oh.” Louis forgets sometimes that he has two of the smartest wizards in the school as his closest friends, and he especially forgets when they teach him things that other people may not know about. “Liam and Zayn showed me. Patronus – _hic_ _–_ c-communication.” 

Harry’s got confusion written all over his face. “You find something new to surprise me all the time, Tomlinson.” 

“S’Not my fault – _hic_ – you love to underestimate me.” 

Harry’s eyes roll back. “Can you walk? We really need to move.” 

“Yeah, yeah, ’m coming,” Louis goes to step off the ledge and stumbles over his own feet, laughing as Harry catches him once more. 

“Fuck’s sake, are you trying to get yourself killed?” Harry chastises, grunting as he catches Louis’ full weight. 

There’s a brief second where Harry’s hand stays on Louis’s body before he pulls away - his hand lingering around Louis’ waist just a moment too long. The sensation makes Louis's chest tighten strangely, and he turns his gaze up to find Harry's eyes already on him. 

He might be drunk, but Louis swears he can feel Harry’s thumb swipe softly against his hip. Louis blinks, and Harry tightens his grip.

“You can let me go,” Louis whispers, swallowing the bubble that’s suddenly in his throat. “I-I'm fine now.” 

Harry’s eyes scan back and forth across Louis’s face, his mouth close enough to Louis that he can smell the heady cinnamon of Firewhiskey on Harry’s breath. 

For one completely crazy, absolutely _batshit_ insane moment, the thought crosses Louis’s mind that Harry is close enough to kiss him. 

Then, 

Harry’s lips are on his. 

And Louis has lost his ever-loving mind. 

It’s shy at first, but doesn’t take long for Harry’s lips to completely envelop Louis’s, for Harry’s tongue to slip gently into his mouth, for his hands to find their way around Louis’s waist, slowly pushing Louis backwards until he can feel the cool stone wall against his skin. 

Strangely, the first thought that comes to Louis’s mind is how _different_ it is to kiss a lad. How _he’s_ the one reaching his head up, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck, instead of tilting it down to meet El’s - 

_Elowen_ _._

Louis pulls back with a shuddered gasp, shoving Harry away. 

“What are you - I can’t - _we_ can’t,” Louis stammers, his voice shaking. He searches frantically for the right words. His heart is in his stomach, and his stomach feels like it’s about to fall out of his body altogether. Louis tastes something vile rise in his throat. He might vomit. "This isn't - right, I can't-"

“ _Louis_ ,” Harry pleads breathlessly. It’s the first time he’s ever heard Harry call him by his first name. “Louis, I-” 

“I think I’m gonna be – M’gonna be sick-” 

He really, really tries not to get it on Harry’s shoes. 

•◈•

The Great Hall is far too loud for Louis. 

Violently loud. And horrifyingly bright. And generally, not enough of the silent, dark hole Louis currently wishes he could crawl in. 

The first thing Louis noticed when he woke up was that his mouth still had remnants of the atrocious cinnamon aftertaste of Firewhiskey, which didn't taste nearly as good coming up as it did going down. He'd tossed and turned in his bed for twenty minutes before he convinced himself to roll out of it, his head pounding something fierce. 

Last night was a complete blur. He remembers most of his and Niall's time at Three Broomsticks, and the star-studded sky in the Room of Requirement, and how the stars seemed to swirl the more he drank. 

Louis gags at the thought of drinking. 

It was some comfort to come to the breakfast table and find that the rest of his friends appeared to feel similarly, all pale and groggy faces greeting him. At Hogwarts, the signs of a truly successful party were measured by your inability to function the next day – and it seemed they had hit the mark. 

After careful consideration, Louis takes a muffin from the center of the table and bites into it gingerly, repressing the urge to spit it out, curl into a ball on the floor, and die. 

“You’ve got to eat something of substance, Lou. Something greasy to soak everything up.” Elowen slides him a plate of sausage that looked wildly unappealing. “It’ll make you feel loads better.” 

It’s then that Niall appears, sliding into an open part of the bench with ease, a great smile on his face. “Mornin’ lads!” 

Everyone gives a sluggish hello, which causes Niall to laugh. 

“How the fuck do you have so much energy?” Zayn asks, jealousy dripping in his voice. Zayn _hated_ being hungover during a school day. 

“Oh, last night was grand, but it was nothing! You should’ve seen the rager we had with the Hufflepuffs just last week.” 

“Don’t want to think about partying ever again,” Louis grumbles. “Think ‘m set for the rest of term when it comes to parties.” 

“It was worth it, yeah?” Niall asks, finishing off a goblet of orange juice. 

“From what I can remember, yes.” Louis nods. “Definitely worth it. We’re going to be proper legends for getting away with a party like that.” 

“I’m just glad you didn’t get caught going back to the rooms by yourself, lucky arsehole.” Liam says, picking feebly at his toast. 

Louis raises his head from off the table. “What do you mean?” 

“When you sent me the Patronus, I thought you were done for. You were properly piss drunk.” 

“Right...” Louis laughs absently. 

Louis tries to call to mind what he would’ve sent Liam a Patronus for, and it’s there, at the brink of his memory… 

And all at once, 

Everything comes back. 

It plays in flashes, images so bright in his mind he doesn’t possibly believe that they were real and not a dream. 

Styles. 

The kiss. 

Harry _kissed_ him. 

Louis’ eyes snap up to promptly scan around the Great Hall for Harry, just as he strides through the doorway. 

Time seems to slow the moment their eyes meet from across the room, and Louis’s stomach turns. He can’t place the emotion clouding Harry’s face, but before he can think more of it, Harry is sat on the far end of the Gryffindor table, out of view. 

“You alright, Lou? You look like you’re going to be sick,” Elowen asks, concern etched on her face. 

“I’m fine,” Louis replies, forcing what he hopes is a smile, though does feel like he’ll be sick. 

She slides him a goblet, gripping his thigh softly under the table. “Drink up, you need to rehydrate.” 

Louis accepts the goblet gratefully, trying his hardest to zone back into the conversation his mates were having, and to _not_ glance in Harry’s direction every fifteen seconds. 

The day seems endless. Every class he attends before Potions drags by – his mind wandering absently with each tick of the clock. 

Harry.

Harry Styles kissed him. 

He’s probably dreamt it, that has to be the only explanation. The only way it would make sense. 

None of this made sense. 

•◈•

Louis walks into Potions with the heaviest sensation in his gut. He feels much better in comparison to when he woke up this morning, but the thought of seeing Styles has him so on edge he can hardly stand it. 

Class is moments away from starting when Harry darts through the door, discreetly sliding into a stool just as Professor Doyle begins the lecture. 

Louis swallows, allowing himself to peek a sideways glance at the boy. “Thought you weren’t coming.” 

Harry doesn't look at Louis to say, “I’m here, aren’t I?” 

Louis just nods, returning his gaze to the front of the room. 

It’s the first class they’ve had that Harry participates perfectly, writes notes in his textbook, and doesn’t give Louis one ounce of hassle. In fact, he hardly speaks. 

It seems like class has lasted for five minutes when the bell rings out to signal the students for lunch, and before Harry can leave, Louis clears his throat. 

“Hey, can we, um, talk?” Louis asks. 

“Make it quick, I’ve got places to be.” Harry replies, unable to meet Louis’s eye. 

“Alright,” Louis begins. “I was curious if, uh, you wanted to talk about... what happened?” 

“Something happened?” 

Louis cocks his head. Maybe Harry had forgotten too? Maybe it really _was_ a dream... 

That wouldn’t explain the way Harry had looked at him in the Great Hall, how he acted during class, how he couldn’t look Louis in the eyes right now. Louis breathes in deeply, steadying himself, willing his heart to slow down enough for him to get the words out. 

“Do you not, erm, remember?” 

Harry sighs. “I don’t have time for this.” 

“I just wanted to talk about it-” 

“There’s nothing to fucking talk about!” Harry collects his books furiously, stalking away from Louis and out of the classroom. 

"Oi," Louis grits his teeth, following him out into the busy corridor of students heading to lunch. “I’m not done talking to you, Styles.” 

Harry spins on his heel. “Drop it, Tomlinson.” 

Louis snorts. “Or what?”

“You’re going to make me do something I regret. Drop. It.” 

_Something he’ll regret?_ Louisrolls his eyes at the dramatics, noting how a few students have started staring in their direction. Harry wanted to put on a show? Fine. Louis would give him one. 

“Typical fucking Styles, unwilling to take responsibility for any of your actions.” 

Harry's eyes go wide at Louis's volume, lowering his head to whisper, “ _Nothing_ happened, give it a fucking rest!” 

“Are you calling me a liar? I wouldn’t just dream of something like-” 

“Listen,” Harry’s taken a step towards him now, emerald eyes alight with anger. “I don’t know what the fuck your problem is, or what your _obsession_ is with me, but-” 

“My _what?”_ Louis laughs, he can’t help it. “You’ve got to be fucking _joking-”_

“But you need to fucking drop it, and leave me alone.” 

“No!” Louis seethes. His whole body has gone hot, trembling with a quiet fury that he can’t contain. “You’ve had a problem with me from the very moment we met, and I’m fucking sick of it. I’ve never done a goddamn thing to you. You’re nothing but a low-life, unintelligent, _bully.”_

Before he can think any better of it, Louis’s hands are on his chest, shoving Harry a few feet backward. Louis is not the strongest lad in school, he knows as much. But he can hold his own. Especially when there’s a developing crowd gathering around them, all curious to see how this unfolds. They’re chattering with excitement, as a fight rarely broke out in these halls. 

“You don’t have to take everything out on me just because there’s an insecure little boy inside of you, pounding to be released. Everyone here knows it.” 

Some students hiss with laughter at the comment, making Louis smirk, his chest extending with pride. 

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Harry spits, closing the distance between them, towering over Louis. He can feel the gravity of Harry, almost like his anger is physically radiating against Louis’ own. 

“Because I don’t think anyone here gives a flying fuck what some - some _Mu_ _dblood_ thinks.” 

A hush falls over the once giddy students. 

Louis’ smirk drops and he feels the vicious word crawl like fire over his skin, and he staggers back, mouth agape. Dread fills his chest entirely, weighing so heavy he feels his knees go weak. 

There are no words that come to him to retort, his mind gone completely blank. He needs to get out of here - he wants to escape, but can’t think of which direction to go to. 

There are eyes on him everywhere he looks, some excited for the fight, but most of them now pitying – _fuck,_ he doesn’t want anyone’s fucking _pity,_ not even if Harry’s gone and called him that – that fucking _word_ , the very last thing he wants from anyone is _pity_. 

If the ground could swallow him whole, that would be ideal. 

Louis thinks he may be immobilized, frozen in complete cowardice forever, when a fist comes from over his left shoulder, and sails directly into Harry’s face. 

The sheer force of it knocks Harry on his back. The crowd of students gasp, and Louis thinks he hears one person cheer. Or maybe he didn’t. He doesn’t know what’s happening anymore. 

Harry scrambles to recover, clutching his face. Louis can see where blood drips steadily between his fingers, and after taking one look at Liam, Harry staggers away. 

Liam stands stoic next to Louis, one sleeve pushed halfway up his arm, panting slightly. 

Louis turns to meet his friend in shock, his eyes saying the words his mouth can’t physically form, hoping Liam will understand. 

Liam nods once, reading Louis’ face. He takes Louis by the hand and marches him directly away from the crowd. 

•◈• 

Louis only allows himself to cry for a few minutes. 

In the shower, where he can sit under a stream of water and properly let it out, where no one can see him. It’s the first time in Louis’ life, that he can remember, that he _really_ cries. Sharp, hiccuping sobs that scrape at his throat and escape his mouth. 

He feels totally, and completely _pathetic_. A wave of embarrassment unfurls in his belly as he goes through the scene in his mind, over and over and over until he tugs on his hair in frustration. He just wants to forget it ever happened, but his mind is insistent on providing him with a shot for shot replay every time he closes his eyes. He scrubbed angrily at his skin, wishing the water would wash the feeling of disgust away. 

Louis eventually leaves the comfort of the shower, grimacing at his reflection in the mirror. The puffy rings around his eyes and reddened nose only make him angrier. Louis couldn’t defend himself, but he _could_ sit and cry like a baby for twenty minutes. 

When he comes back into the room, brushing a towel through his wet hair, Liam hops up from his bed. 

“Lou,” Liam shifts on two feet, suddenly unsure of what to say. “I know you didn’t want me to get involved, I’m really sorry - I didn’t mean to overstep.” 

“Are you actually apologizing?” Louis lets out a weak laugh, waving him off with one hand. “You don’t need to apologize. It’s alright.” 

“Okay...” Liam’s word trails off, as though he expects Louis to say more, but Louis merely forces himself give a tight smile. A master of dismissal. 

Louis trudges over to his bed, where Elton lays asleep, his fluffy tail curled around himself. Louis sort of wishes he could do the same. The cat purrs contentedly, lifting his head a bit so Louis can scratch under his chin. 

“I don’t think he meant it,” Liam offers. “He was mad, he - he couldn’t have known what it would mean.” 

“He grew up in a wizarding family, Liam. He knew exactly what it would mean.” 

Liam nods sullenly. “I’m - I’m really sorry, Louis. I never thought he’d go that far.” 

Louis shrugs nonchalantly. “It is what it is.” 

Blinking back more of the pesky tears that are forming in his eyes, Louis stands, busying himself with the pile of clothes on his floor. 

“It is what it is, and the more we dwell on it, the more everyone’s gonna look at me with _that_ fucking face on their faces. The one you’re looking at me with right now.” 

Liam says nothing, and guilt washes over Louis instantly. 

“I’m sorry,” He breathes, remembering not to be so cross with Liam, as it’s not his fault. But he also cannot _stand_ to look at the gentle, soft smile Liam is giving him for one moment longer. “I know it’s not your fault. ‘M really fine, honestly.” 

“I understand, Lou,” Liam murmurs softly. 

Louis represses a bitter laugh. Liam most certainly did _not_ understand, and he never would. 

“I’m uh, I’m supposed to be meeting Zayn at the library, but I could totally stay if you need the company,” Liam says, the same positive tone in his voice that currently resembled nails on a chalkboard to Louis. “Or if you want, you could come-” 

Louis flinches at the thought of seeing anyone, knowing full well the whole school had probably heard tale of the events by now. 

“Nah,” Louis interrupts, “I’m okay.” 

Liam’s shoulders visibly slump, but he nods, retrieving his bag from the far corner of the room. 

He stops in the threshold of their room on his way out, holding the door open with his arm. 

“Louis,” Liam calls only slightly over his shoulder. “You’re one of the greatest wizards I’ve ever known.” 

The door shuts. Liam’s words ignite new blooming feelings of despair in Louis’ belly, and tears flood his vision once more, falling over his cheeks. 

He looks around at the room he shares with Liam, and sees the divide so clearly that it hurts. 

The various Muggle favorites he’d stuck to the wall – an Oasis poster hung up over his bed, the jersey of his favorite Doncaster player framed up beside it. The most recent addition was a vintage Grease movie poster he’d found at a record shop in London over summer holiday. There were various pictures of his family, of his friends from primary school, of his home. 

All reminders of his life back in the Muggle world, reminders of why he would never be the same as Liam, as Styles, as anyone in this school. He knew he didn’t belong among them. 

A deep wave of embarrassment rushes uncomfortably through him, but is swiftly replaced with rage. 

Louis quickly crawls up his bed, sending Elton scrambling as he stands on two feet atop his mattress. 

Glaring at his wall, he swiftly rips the poster away, the edges tearing where the tape once lay. The jersey is next, plastic pieces of the frame clattering everywhere as he forcefully throws it to the ground beside his bed. 

_“Fuck!”_ Louis yells, screaming out into the empty room. 

He sobs as he removes each picture of his sisters, the photos of home, the Grease poster. 

With all his favorite belongings in a miserable pile, the sight clenching tight in Louis’ chest, he finally collapses into his pillow, thick and sloppy sobs bursting from somewhere deep. 

•◈•

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hi hello! 
> 
> I hope you all are staying safe and healthy, and getting up to some good reading while you're at it ;)
> 
> I have had so much fun writing this fic so far! I've also started something new if you'd like to check that out as well, it's on my page... 
> 
> Also, I can take requests for any blurbs/one shot ideas you've got! You can find me on Tumblr as sweetcanyonmoon!
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you as always for reading, each and every kudos and comment makes my heart a huge smiley face xx


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Those who tread among serpents, and along a torturous path, must use the cunning of the serpent."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovely humans!
> 
> THANK YOU for sticking around for this chapter... It was a monster! 21k! I considered breaking it up into two parts, but I figured waiting a little longer for twice the chapter would be worth it. 
> 
> A ginormous thank you to my partner in crime, Lyss - for your patience, for being my editor, and for being the person who listens to me ramble on about all my ideas... This fic wouldn't survive if she didn't keep me moving along. She's the most wonderful human I know to keep re-reading 20 different versions of the same chapter. <3
> 
> Anyways,  
> I hope you love this chapter as much as I loved writing it! This story and these characters have meant a great deal to me in these past few months, it's so lovely (and wild,) to me that even one person is enjoying it.
> 
> As always, your kudos and comments for this fic always make my heart the biggest happy face. (The comments are always so passionate and especially brighten my day.)
> 
> Enjoy! xx

•◈•

It’s chilly. 

A shiver runs down Harry’s spine, from either anticipation, or the strangely freezing temperature of the Headmaster’s office. He’s been sat with his hands folded neatly in his lap for twenty minutes, awaiting his fate - his demise, more like. It wasn’t a shock when he received word during his last class to appear at the Headmaster’s office; he knew it was only a matter of time. Harry is surprised she had waited an entire day to summon him. 

Discomfort wiggles in the pit of Harry’s stomach when he thinks of yesterday’s events. It was never meant to go this far -and it’s no excuse, not by any stretch of the imagination, but - he _panicked_. Harry had never felt emotion in his life like he had yesterday - emotion that shadowed his better judgement, clouding over all rational thought, narrowing down to one pinprick of light that seemed like his only way out.

All he remembers is the _rage_ that was blazing in his chest, making him see red; followed quickly by hot shame that smothered any traces of anger as he realized that he _was_ in the wrong.

The worst part was the heart-shattering look on Louis’ face. His _eyes_ \- wet. Vibrant, electric blue even amidst the despair.

Harry cringes at the mental picture. He doesn’t even want to _think_ about it, because the guilt that accompanies it threatens to bury him whole. He’s still in a selfish shock that he even said the word out loud, especially in front of all of those people… It kept him up nearly all night, tossing and turning with something bitter and ugly stirring inside him.

The lack of sleep could have also stemmed from the fact that he was stuck sleeping on the Infirmary’s uncomfortable cot all night, but that was beside the point. 

It’s a wonder that Madam Pomfrey was able to reset his nose, after Liam Payne casually broke it in front of half the school. Served him right. It was exactly what Harry deserved. 

“Apologies for the delay.” A voice brings Harry back to the present, snapping his head up from his hands.

The Headmaster briskly sweeps through the door, closing it gently behind her. She takes long strides to her desk and sits with an exhaled breath, heavy and tired-sounding. Harry is hesitant to find whatever expression matches her tone, so his gaze follows up her ornate desk before settling on her face. There, filled in the lines of her face, is exactly what Harry expected to see.

Disappointment.

“Harry Styles _._ ” The words are labored, tinged with sadness. 

“Good afternoon, Headmaster.” 

“It is regrettable to have you sit in my office under these circumstances.” 

Harry swallows around the tightness that has risen in his throat. “I agree.” 

She exhales heavily. “I would like to clarify what occurred yesterday.” 

“I was… in a fight, Headmaster.” Harry says slowly. 

“Yes, Mr. Styles, I am aware of that fact.” She glares at him sternly. “More importantly, I would like to clarify a certain portion of the event that has reached my ears in a most unpleasant manner." 

Harry averts his gaze towards his lap. His pulse thrums a little louder in his ears. “I didn’t, erm, start the fight, or even throw the first punch. I didn’t hit him at all, actually.” 

“I believe you know that's not what I am referring to, Mr. Styles.” 

Harry doesn’t look up. Suddenly his nails are much more interesting. 

“It’s come to my attention that perhaps you may have used another form of malice, and if this is true, it is much better that you tell me now and we will work together to repair the damage you may have caused that poor boy." 

Harry can feel the Headmaster’s eyes boring into him, but he can’t look up. Shame flushes hot through his cheeks.

“Very well,” McGonagall seems disappointed. Harry is too. “I will have a conversation with Mr. Tomlinson, and we’ll decide what to do with you both. You may wait outside.” 

Harry rises from his chair. There’s something screaming inside of him, a small voice that begs for Harry to confess, to take responsibility for himself for once in his _fucking life,_ but Harry would never do that. He's a coward. 

“I never… meant for this to happen.” He says quietly. As if it makes any difference. 

•◈•

Louis has been waiting outside McGonagall’s office for ten long, agonizing minutes. He wrings his hands nervously, fighting heavy eyes and periodically stifling a yawn. 

At some point last night, he had fallen into a fitful sleep, only to wake up at midnight with a rumbling stomach and a sore throat. 

With the moon still high in his window, Louis wiped the grogginess from his eyes to see that the aftermath of his… _tantrum_ had been carefully placed on his desk, ripped photos stacked neatly and the pieces of his jersey frame in a pile. It was embarrassing, feeling as though it was the _second_ time in one day that Liam had come to clean up after Louis’ mess. 

Louis glanced over to the other side of their room, where the boy’s soft snores confirmed he was sound asleep. 

Quietly padding over to his desk, Louis retrieved his wand, slipping a jumper over his head and a pair of trainers onto his feet. With a careful hand he opened their room door and wandered down the halls, until he found himself pacing the Slytherin common room. It was a place of comfort for Louis, despite the feeling that he didn’t deserve it. It always reminded him how many great wizards and witches must have passed through that very room, and he couldn’t accept that he would ever be one of them. 

Louis plopped in front of the fireplace and used the poker to stir the barely-lit dying embers, watching as the flames flickered to life. 

Another bubbling roar sounded from Louis’ stomach, reminding him that in the excitement of the day, he’d skipped lunch and slept all the way through dinner. 

Dreading the thought of waiting until morning to eat, he did the only thing he could think of. 

“ _Expecto Patronum!”_ Louis swung his wand in a complete circle, his Patronus immediately appearing in a flash of silver light, the familiar fox trotting into view and sitting curiously in front of him. 

“Any chance you’re awake, Nialler?” 

With a swoosh of his wand, the fox scampered away. 

Louis wrapped his arms around himself, getting lost in the way the fire crackled, flames licking the brick and stone.

It wasn’t long after that Niall’s Patronus bounced through the walls, a cheerful Terrier that circled a few times around Louis’ sitting form. 

“Always awake for you, Tommo!” It announced in Niall’s cheerful voice, before running back into the wall. 

Louis summoned his own Patronus again with a small smile. 

“…Any chance you’d be down for a midnight snack?” 

The Patronus came eagerly bounding back once more. “As if I’ll ever say no to a midnight snack.” The Terrier scoffed. 

With a relieved sigh, Louis pushed himself off the ground and set off in the direction of the kitchens. 

•◈•

“I knew Styles was a dick, but I never thought he would ever take it that far.” Niall shook his head remorsefully, as they walked down the corridors together. 

Aside from just being an extraordinary friend, it was handy that Niall was a Hufflepuff - with their common rooms so close to the kitchens, it was no issue whenever one needed a pick-me-up; Niall would always come to the rescue with some sort of snack and a smile. Whichhappened to be exactly what Louis needed; for his empty stomach to stop screaming at him, and for his friend’s unwavering, genuine happy grin. 

“Did Liam _really_ punch him out?” Niall’s tone picked up some excitement, and Louis could tell the boy was attempting to contain his glee. “I can’t picture it.” 

“If I hadn’t seen it with me own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it m’self.” Louis replied. 

“Godric, the money I would have paid to have seen that,” Niall said wistfully, tapping three times on a barrel on the left of the kitchen entryway, and once on a barrel to the right. 

Louis thought to himself how he would have paid money to _not_ be in the situation at all, and he waited patiently as Niall searched for one of the kitchen elves to come out. 

After a few moments, an elf lumbered through, and Louis didn’t recognize him, but _did_ note how looked particularly disgruntled, and wildly unhappy he seemed to see the pair of them. 

“ _Bremmo!_ ” Niall exclaimed happily, crouching down to the elf’s level with a grin. 

“Second time in one night, Horan?” The elf shook his head disapprovingly. “This is ridiculous, even for you.” 

Niall threw his hands up defensively. “Hey, this one isn’t for me. Got a friend here,” Niall jerked a thumb over his shoulder, “Who’s had a rough going of it today. Any chance you can whip him something up?" 

“What you think, ‘m running a charity here?” 

Niall cocked his head playfully. “Oh, Bremmo, don’t be like _that_ \- c’mon!” 

The elf’s beady gaze flickered back and forth between Niall and Louis. 

Maybe it was Louis’ defeated stature, or the rings around his eyes, or maybe it was the way Louis’ stomach conveniently let out a low _grumble_ at just the right moment, but Bremmo rolled his eyes, and headed back to the direction of the kitchen. 

_“Bloody hungry kids, as if we don’t feed ‘em enough...”_ Bremmo growled under his breath as he waddled away. 

“Ah, you’re _grand_ , boyo, cheers!” Niall called after him. 

A few minutes later, they were sat against the wall outside the Hufflepuff common room side by side, as Louis furiously consumed the sandwiches Bremmo practically threw at him. Maybe not the _best_ in customer service, but damn him if the food wasn’t delicious. 

“Are you going to go to McGonagall about it?” Niall asked after a while, his tone oddly serious . 

Louis chewed for a moment, unsure of the answer himself. “I… I imagine she knows already." 

“Right,” Niall nodded. “Well, someone's gotta do something. Can’t have people walkin’ around, thinkin’ it’s okay to just go and call someone that word.” 

Louis stared blankly ahead, his appetite suddenly long gone. He placed the sandwich on the ground and rested his head back against the wall. 

“It’s true, though. It’s what I am.” 

“Louis.” Niall said, his eyes reading confusion. 

Louis shrugged. “Yeah, 's a filthy word, but it’s what I am. May as well embrace it." 

“You don’t actually… think that of yourself, do you?” Niall asked quietly, his jaw dropping when Louis didn’t immediately answer. “You can’t be serious.” 

“I just don’t see the point in trying so hard anymore. Nothing seems to be good enough." 

Niall turned to face Louis completely. “You - you’re good at everything, Louis! You’re one of the smartest fuckin’ people I know.” 

“That doesn’t mean a _goddamn_ thing at the end of the day, though, does it?” Louis snapped, and Niall’s face fell. “Because apparently it doesn’t matter what I do, or how hard I work at being a wizard, I’ll never belong here.” 

It seemed impossible, that any more tears could be left, but there they were, flooding Louis’s vision once again. He pressed the heels of his hands into eyes in a weak attempt to stop them. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Louis hissed frustratedly. “Sorry, mate, this is so - _Merlin_. So bloody embarrassing.” 

“Lou,” Niall soothed, putting a soft hand on Louis’ trembling shoulder. “You are _twice_ the wizard Harry Styles is, always have been. Some people are just miserable. And usually hell-bent on making you miserable along with them.” 

“He kissed me.” The words were out of Louis' mouth before he can stop them. 

The color immediately left Niall’s face. He blinked, the meaning of Louis’ words hitting him. “I - He… He what?” 

Louis’ heart began hammering then, because _what the fuck had he just done_ , but it was too late, and he couldn’t fight the rest of the words from tumbling from his lips.

“He _kissed_ me, Niall. I swear to _Merlin_ , I don’t know why, and that’s - that’s why this whole fucking thing started in the first place.” 

“Wha - When did he do _that?”_

“The night of your party,” Louis admitted with a sniffle. “And I was sure I had to have been piss-drunk, that maybe I dreamed it, but he was acting so… _off_ during class, I knew it had to have been real.” 

Niall said nothing, and Louis continued on talking, explaining the events after the party to fill the unbearable silence. It wasn’t Louis’ intention to casually drop his biggest secret on Niall, in fact - he hadn’t planned on telling _anyone_. But once he’d started, Louis couldn’t stop – the story unfolded in great detail, until it’s all out in the open air and he couldn’t take it back even if he wanted to. 

When Louis fell silent, Niall nodded, a far-off look on his face. “That… That actually makes sense.”

Louis barked out a hollow laugh. He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his sleeved hand. “ _Nothing_ about this makes sense.” 

“No,” Niall said, his tone firm with certainty this time, “It makes _tons_ of sense! Think about it, Lou. He fancies you, clearly.” 

Louis snorted, loudly. The idea of Harry Styles _fancying_ him was a laughable one. “Oh, now you’ve lost me there, Nialler.” 

“Really! I’ve never – I mean – Harry never struck me as the type to secretly be gay, but… Then again - Well, Lou-” Niall glanced at Louis pointedly, “Are… Are you gay?” 

Louis couldn’t ignore the bloom of heat that spread over him when he remembered Harry’s lips on his own, his hands gripping on his waist; pulling him impossibly close, like he wanted their bodies to melt together into one - 

“No,” Louis answered, his reply clipped and unyeilding. “No, I don’t think I am.” 

“Oh,” Niall replied. This seemed to stump him. “Of course. I mean, that’s good, obviously. Cause of El, and all that.” 

Elowen. Her sweet face appeared clearly in Louis' mind, all warm smiles and happy giggles, framed by beautiful blonde hair. Everything about her was lovely. Familiar. Comfortable. Louis loved her; he knew it in his core. Something in him just wanted to protect her, no matter what, and panic shattered his happy thoughts as he imagined of her finding out about any of it. 

“Niall, you can’t - _no one_ can know about this,” said Louis hurriedly. “Like, anyone. Not a single soul.” 

“You’ve got to know me better than that,” Niall met Louis’ eyes. “That’s… I would never.” 

Louis shoulders slumped. Niall was right, and Louis knew that deep down, or he never would have brought it up in the first place. Louis released a sigh of tremendous relief; now that someone else knew, he didn’t have to bear the heaviness of the secret alone. He didn’t realize how much it was weighing on him until right in that moment. 

“I _do_ love Elowen,” Louis reasoned out loud, _maybe more to himself than to Niall,_ “I love her, and it would probably break her heart if she knew about this. Any of it.” 

“Well, it wasn’t exactly your fault, was it? It’s not like you kissed him back.” Niall replied with an easy shrug.

Louis squeezed his eyes shut, too exhausted to fabricate a lie to cover for himself. Sensing this, Niall’s eyes widened. 

“Oh, _bloody hell._ Right, then, so... you did?” 

Louis tugged at his hair, in pure disbelief that he was even about to say the words out loud, 

“I - Fuck. I _may_ have,” Louis didn’t know what really happened. He hadn’t truly allowed himself to think about it, because when he did, his insides twisted so violently it threatened to make him sick and he forced himself to think of something else. “I’m not sure. I feel like I don’t know _anything_ anymore! Everything was so much easier when he hated me - it’s all such a fucking mess, and I’m so bloody _confused_.” 

“We’re not meant to have everything sorted right now, Lou. It’s alright if you’re, _um_ … Confused.” 

Despite himself, a small smile tweaked the corner of Louis’ mouth at Niall’s words. The poor lad was clearly out of his element, but Louis appreciated his effort to be supportive nonetheless. Never in a million years did Louis think he’d be having this conversation aloud, least of all with _Niall_. It was comical. 

Louis thought he may cry again when he felt a strange sensation bubbling up in his throat, stirring in his tummy. 

It was laughter. 

It began in one small chuckle, and then another, until it all came out. It was bursting out of him, true belly laughs, until his stomach cramped and he couldn’t breathe and there were tears streaming from his eyes. 

Niall looked on with absolute bewilderment, but couldn’t help feeding off of Louis’ wild energy, his own strange laughter echoing Louis'.

“What t’hell are we laughing about?” 

Louis sighed as he calmed down, only to slip into another fit of delirious giggles, wincing at the twinging ache in his belly. 

“ _Oh, fuck_ – Oh, _Jesus_ ,” Louis wheezed, wiping the wetness from his face. “This is all just _fuckin’_ _madness_ , isn’t it?” 

“You are _so_ weird, Tommo.” 

•◈•

Louis snaps back to reality when the enormous door to McGonagall’s office creaks open, revealing a sulking Styles behind it. Louis quickly adjusts himself, his posture raising in his seat. He wills himself to look tall, strong, unbothered - and not at all like the absolutely beaten, exhausted, defeated _twat_ he feels like on the inside. 

Louis also commands himself not to change his line of sight, to not even _glance_ in Harry’s direction as the Gryffindor boy exits the office. 

“You may come in, Mr. Tomlinson,” The Headmaster’s voice calls from inside. 

His robes brush Harry’s as he passes. 

Louis enters the room with caution, closing the door as softly as he can manage behind him. The office is huge, and even more grand than he’d anticipated, but that much he should have expected - the entrance to the Headmaster’s Tower had been a massive ( _extremely ugly, and terrifying in Louis’ opinion,)_ stone Gargoyle, complete with an Enchanted spiral staircase. And that was just to get _up_ to her office. 

McGonagall sits behind a large brown desk with ornate detailing, nestled between two sets of marble stairs, which makes the Headmaster appear quite small. Book shelves line each of the walls, reaching as high as the ceiling, packed with thick tomes that Louis can only wonder the subjects of. 

“Have a seat,” The Headmaster gestures to one of the beautifully upholstered chairs across from her desk. Louis plops unceremoniously onto it, wishing it would suck him in completely. “I'm assuming you are well aware as to why I’ve called you here.” McGonagall says, her mouth set into a grim line. 

“Yes Headmaster, I am.” Louis replies. 

There’s an odd energy that Louis can’t place, which may have something to do with the fact that he doesn’t believe he’s ever had a _conversation_ with the Headmaster before. Nothing beyond exchanging pleasantries, that is - and even that was a stretch. Louis used to imagine that it was sort of like having a celebrity run your school. A person who rarely ever appeared in the halls casually, but when she did, she appeared to be on a mission; taking long strides and hardly stopping to say hello. 

Though he never did get the chance to be very close to her, Louis still did admire her a great deal. She was one of the greatest wizards of all time - with such an incredible life story. It was a shame that he was here now, in his seventh year, and _this_ was likely to be the lasting impression Louis would leave on her. 

“Good. Then there is no reason to waste time.” She leans forward, hands folded in front of her. “There is no tolerance on these grounds for physical violence.” 

“I understand, Headmaster.” 

“That being said, there is even _less_ tolerance for hateful language and prejudice. If there is anything you would like to share with me,” She says, in a painstakingly obvious tone, “Anything _inappropriate_ that you would like me to correct, now would be the time.” 

Louis hesitates, though he’s not entirely sure why. She hasn’t said it outright, but Louis obviously knows what she’s getting at. This was his chance to tell her everything that’s happened, for her to rectify his actions, so that Louis can live out the rest of his last year at Hogwarts in peace. Surely this type of information would be enough to get the boy removed from his Potion’s class, and Louis would finally be rid of Harry Styles. 

For a moment he considers what it would _really_ do to tell the Headmaster what Harry said: Would it erase the fact that he said it? Would it be gone from the memory of all the students who heard him? Would it ease the ache in Louis’ chest when he thought about it? 

Likely, it would result in a letter written home to Harry’s parents, possibly some deal of detention, and maybe even more problems for Louis in the future. It would potentially ruin his final year at school, and Louis refused to allow Styles to tarnish any more memories Louis would have of Hogwarts. 

“I-I’m not sure what you mean.” Louis says. 

McGonagall peers over her glasses, stormy grey eyes squinting. “You’re not sure what I mean?” She asks, her voice sharp. 

“I heard… A rumour,” Louis averts his gaze. “I’m guessing you've heard as well?” 

“This isn’t to be taken lightly, Mr. Tomlinson. I have received several complaints from students about this. If such language was used, I would need to eradicate it immediately.” 

“Trust me, I understand,” Louis replies quickly. “I think maybe… People like to unnecessarily escalate a situation further, seeing as there aren’t many,” He swallows, “Incidents, here.” 

Her eyes narrow. “That is a heavy accusation for a student to make about another.” 

“Nasty, I know,” Louis is more confident now. “I thought the same when Iheard it. I reckon someone thought it would make everything a bit more interesting, awful as it sounds. Gossip must be slow this week.” 

McGonagall does not seem convinced. 

“And just what was the root of the altercation?” 

Louis shuffles a hand through the back of his hair. He doesn’t like lying under any circumstance, let alone to the Headmaster, who is currently looking right through Louis as though he were made of glass. 

The idea of revealing the actual issue was laughable, considering Louis himself truly didn’t know how it escalated as quickly as it did. Louis was quick to anger, sure, but never in his life was he quick to _fight._ The only thing he knew in that moment was rage, blinding everything else around him. The combination of that, and the confusion he felt from everything else rose to the surface too fast for Louis to stop it. 

“We’re, erm, Potions partners,” Louis admits. Maybe the best way around a lie was to tell a portion of the truth. “And he hasn’t been pulling his weight. It was my fault. My temper got the better of me, and it will never happen again.” He meets the Headmaster in the eye. “ _I mean it._ I take responsibility and I’m sorry for any disruption it caused, and I will take whatever punishment you see fit.” 

McGonagall sits back fully in her seat, examining Louis with a skeptical eye. He can’t tell if it’s worked or not, from the slow way she scans his face. 

“I see,” She finally says with a purse of her lips. “You’re saying that the foul language was not part of the situation.” 

“No ma’am.” Louis says. “Just… an unfortunate rumour.” 

They sit a moment longer in contemplative silence, Louis trying his hardest not to break out into a sweat. 

“Mr. Styles,” McGonagall calls loudly, and Louis jumps at the sound. “You may join us.” 

The door opens slowly, Harry stepping through, an expression on his face that Louis has never seen there before – his posture more hunched, as if he was trying not to walk in too aggressively. Was it... _fear_? Their eyes meet for a blazing, brief, moment before Louis tears his gaze away. 

The boy takes a seat in the empty chair next to Louis, and they both direct their attention to the Headmaster. 

She says nothing for a moment, taking the picture of them in, and it occurs to Louis, belatedly, that Harry could have already confessed to everything... And he’d just told a bold-faced lie to the Headmaster of Hogwarts. 

“I’ve been brought up to speed by Mr. Tomlinson about the basis of your misunderstanding.” 

Louis sneaks a peek out of the corner of his eye at Harry. The boy looks considerably more afraid as he nods along silently, his shoulders hunched over and his eyes downcast. 

“He has informed me that you have not been a respectable Potions partner, and I will be meeting with Professor Doyle on this matter, so that he might keep better track of your progress.” 

Louis cringes inwardly at the thought of Professor Doyle getting dragged into this; to be reprimanded over something he had nothing to do with. It miles away from being his fault. Louis makes a mental note to apologize to the Professor, maybe bring him some of his favorite candies to next class. 

“I'll be giving you both a week’s detention for this,” McGonagall continues, “And I will be docking, from both Gryffindor and Slytherin house, one hundred points each.” 

Both Louis and Harry flinch at this. Louis especially feels hot indignation slide up in him, as he’s never even _heard_ of that many points being taken - that many points could take away the lead Slytherin had just obtained. Louis' team had been working _overtime_ since the last Quidditch match, practicing _every single day,_ and leave it to Louis to be the reason they were docked _one hundred points._ How could he consider himself a good leader? 

“I will not hear of this issue again. You are both dismissed.” 

Louis hears a distinct sigh of relief from Harry, and he rolls his eyes, only _slightly_ regretting his choice to let Harry off the hook; naturally, the Golden Boy would leave this situation unscathed. Louis needed to get out of here before he says something he doesn’t mean. 

Louis wishes a half-hearted good day to the Headmaster and turns for the exit, feeling Harry’s presence beside him. 

They both reach for the door simultaneously, their hands brushing slightly. Louis retracts his as if he’d been burned, the pair of them awkwardly shuffling to see who will get the door first. Louis murmurs a bumbling, _"Sorry_ ,” while Harry opts for, “ _Oops - no, you’re fine._ ” It’s excruciatingly weird and Louis grabs the handle with haste before they can make fools of themselves any longer, rushing through it and heading down the spiral stairs with swift steps. 

“Harry,” McGonagall says, just before he’s made it through the doorway, “I do not wish to see you in my office for this reason again, are we clear?” 

Her steely expression says more than her words do, but Harry knows her meaning. He gives her a tight nod. 

Harry trots down the stairs of the Headmaster’s Tower, popping out at the bottom to see that Louis has already made it halfway down the corridor. 

“Tomlinson,” Harry calls, _in what he hopes is a non-threatening tone_ , jogging lightly to match up with Louis’s stride. 

Harry can see how Louis’ shoulders tense at the sound of his name, but he stops anyway, rounding a corner so they’re out of view of the busy hallway. 

“ _Well_?” Louis questions, arms folded across his chest. He grants Harry a moment of eye contact. “Did you need something?” 

One glare from a set of piercing blue eyes and Harry has suddenly lost his train of thought. 

“Why - why did you... Why did you do that?” Harry asks, his voice wavering a bit - something it never usually does. He remembers himself, straightens his back, and lowers his tone. “Why didn’t you tell her?” 

Louis scoffs. “Let’s just say I did you a favor you didn’t deserve, and call it a day. In fact, let’s call it a _year_. If you don’t speak to me for the rest of term, I will be perfectly pleased. Good day.”

“What’s your angle, here?” Harry presses, sidestepping as Louis tries to pass through. “You’re not going to give me any other explanation than that?”

“As if I need to explain a single fucking thing to you, Styles. It’s actually pretty interesting that you want to talk _now, '_ cause you seemed pretty goddamn opposed to it yesterday.” There’s a biting edge to Louis’ tone, one that doesn’t suggest room for a response. “I guess we _both_ have questions we need answers to."

The insinuation makes Harry’s body go hot. He stands there with his mouth gaping open like a fish, unsure of what his next words needed to be. His emotions feel turbulent, uncontrollable, like he’s got too many conflicting thoughts running wild in his mind with nowhere to go. 

“I -“

 _“Louis!”_

A Slytherin girl Harry vaguely recognizes waves Louis down from across the hallway. She walks up to the pair of them, eyeing Harry up and down with obvious disdain. 

“Hi, love,” She regards Louis casually, though her eyes never leave Harry’s. It’s an unsettling contrast, the way her calm voice lilts sweetly, but drips with contempt just the same. She flips sleek blonde hair over her shoulder, blinking prettily. “Everything alright?” 

“Fine, I’m fine,” Louis takes her hand, lacing their fingers together. “We’re done here.”

Aiming the last of his words to Harry, Louis shoots him a brutal glare like smoldering blue fire. Harry may imagine it, but something else lingers there in his face, betraying his words. 

Harry watches as Louis and the girl walk away, his eyes lingering on where their hands are joined - trying not to think too hard about how the image has formed a knot in his stomach. 

•◈• 

They stroll back to the Slytherin Common Room hand in hand, shrouded in a strange quiet. 

Elowen strokes her thumb over Louis’ hand every so often, reminding him that she was with him; it was pleasant, and grounding, when his mind threatened to float away. 

They take the steps to Louis’ room wordlessly, and once the door is shut, Louis leans his forehead against the frame and lets out a breath hadn’t realized he was holding. He allows himself a full minute of breathing, to calm his heart rate, to collect his thoughts - El looks on with kind eyes, already having made herself at home, lounging on the bed with Louis’ cat. 

Louis kicks off his shoes and joins her, the bed creaking under their joint weight. He lays his head in her lap, and she immediately begins running her nimble fingers through his hair. It reminds Louis of the way his mother used to calm him down from a bad dream when he was younger, and he sinks gratefully into the feeling, eyes fluttering closed. 

They sit in comfortable silence for a few blissful minutes, and Louis is on the brink of his first bit of peaceful sleep in over twenty-four hours when El’s voice wakes him. 

“Did you want to talk about it?” She asks softly. Louis sighs. 

“I - I don’t know.” He answers truthfully. A large part of him does. Before anything else, Elowen was his best friend - but Louis quickly rationalizes that telling her the story would also mean a great deal of lying, and he didn’t want to lie anymore. Unfortunately for him, it was better to not to say anything at all. 

“Is it true?” Elowen whispers, “Did he really call you a -“ 

Louis grimaces. “I’d rather not hear it twice, El.” 

Louis pulls himself upright, adjusting to lean back against his headboard, a pink hue spreading across Elowen’s cheeks. 

“I’m sorry, G-Godric.” El shakes her head. “I didn’t mean to bring it up so casually, that was ridiculously insensitive. Stupid.” 

“Hey,” Louis reaches a hand up to stroke her cheek, smiling softly. “Not stupid. I’m fine, really. You don’t have to worry about me.” 

“I do. If I don’t, who will?” 

They share a knowing look before concluding at the same time, 

_“Liam.”_

Elowen laughs. “Alright, so someone else will worry about you. But it is my _job_.” 

“ _Merlin_ \- I don’t need to be looked after, Elowen. Impossible as it may seem, I will make it out of this alive.” 

Louis is thankful that she doesn’t press the subject any further, simply opting to lean forward and close the distance between their mouths. Elowen gently guides him back, sliding to perch in his lap, which is unexpected. It’s more than they usually attempt, but Louis allows himself to get lost in her lips, in the comfort of her soft mouth on his.

A strange sensation washes over him when he feels her hands slide up under his shirt, her hands roaming over the bare skin of his stomach. 

“El-“ Louis murmurs into her lips, but she ignores him, stroking the skin below his navel. Louis feels his pulse pick up as her nimble fingers find their way to the zip of his trousers, pulling it down swiftly. “Elowen, what - what’re you-“ 

Louis pushes against her body as gently as he possibly can, eyes searching her face for an explanation. 

They look at one another, Elowen’s expression a picture of disappointment and confusion.

“Do… do you not, like, want to?” 

Louis can’t comprehend the wave of horror that washes over him at the very _insinuation_ of her question, but he disregards it and reaches for El’s hand. 

“No. _Merlin_ \- It’s not that I-I _don’t_ , I just - this doesn’t feel like, like it’s the right time. _”_

Elowen’s eyes narrow dubiously. She retracts her hand slowly. “You don’t feel like it’s the right _time_?” 

“No, that sounds stupid.” Louis admits, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I just don’t think this is… what I want. _Right now_ ,” He tacks on the last bit hurriedly, pathetically, but he can already tell it won’t make a difference. Louis knows he may as well be speaking a foreign language by the way Elowen is looking at him. The moment is so tangibly awkward that Louis can hardly stand it.

“I’m sorry. I know I probably sound like a tit. It’s just… It’s been a long day, El. I don’t have the energy for all of… _that_.” Louis says on an exhale, hoping he’s made even a little bit of sense. 

Elowen says nothing. She looks at Louis, examining his face as if it were new, and this was the first time she was seeing it. Louis squirms under her stare.

“You’re just… getting further and further away, Louis.” Elowen finally says, a sad smile grazing her lips. “I wish I knew where you’ve been going. Up here,” She taps him gently on the forehead. She then slips from the bed, and begins to collect her things from the ground. “I should go.”

 _Now_ he’s done it.

“No, El, _please_ ,“ Louis slumps, the ache in his chest widening the size of a canyon. “Don’t go. _Please_.” 

“You probably want to be alone. I’m sorry that I came on too strong, I should’ve thought that through more clearly.” 

Being alone actually sounded horrendous, and is the _very_ last thing Louis wants - but he doesn’t have the heart to say so out loud. He just watches as Elowen takes to the door without looking back.

“A-alright.” Louis swallows, hard. “I’ll see to you tomorr-“ He begins to say, but the door is already closed, and once again, he is alone.

•◈•

Louis received notice that detention would begin for a week starting the following Monday. They were to report to Hagrid’s cottage directly after classes let out, for an hour each day. It was an inconvenience, but Louis managed to rearrange some things and push Quidditch practice back an hour every night for the week. If he hustled, he could still get some valuable practice time in before they lost the light completely. 

Louis had never served a detention with Hagrid - which wasn’t saying much, considering he’d only received detention less than a handful of times in his seven years, but it meant that Louis had no idea what the week would entail.

He hadn’t seen the Professor much outside of his third year, when he elected to take Care of Magical Creatures because Niall and Liam wanted to see a Hippogriff in person… It had been the longest semester for Louis at Hogwarts - something about the animals being half one creature, and half another, _really_ made Louis’ skin crawl. It was one of the aspects of this magical life that he never quite got accustomed to; Louis _very much_ liked animals, though perhaps not the ones he considered to only exist in fairytales.

Louis managed to make it all the way through to Christmas break, and when he returned to Hogwarts in the new year, it was with a signed note from his mother, asking for him to be removed from the class due to an unexpected “ _allergy_ ,” he had “ _developed_ ,” to Hippogriff dander. ( _Louis’ mother hadn’t the slightest clue what any of that meant.)_

Exiting the school, Louis strolls to the top of the hill - enjoying the fleeting warmth of the late afternoon on his face. From here, Louis can see all across the fields that ran behind the school’s grounds, the sun glinting in a lovely way across the greenery, and Hagrid’s hut nestled sweetly in between it all. 

His throat bobs when his eyes land on Harry, leaning against the cobblestone hut. The boy appears to be deep in thought, hands shoved into his pockets, glancing up as Louis approaches. 

“Y’alright?” 

Louis can’t keep his face from scrunching up at the casual greeting. He shrugs in response, refusing to meet Harry’s gaze. 

“’S gonna be a long week if you can’t at least make small talk.” Harry mutters. 

“A shame,” Louis rolls his eyes. “I _so_ enjoy small talk." 

“‘Ello, boys,” Hagrid emerges from the wooded area behind his home, leaning heavily on a wooden cane that's as tall as Harry - Louis is beyond grateful for his timing. “Heard you’ll be stuck with me for the week. What’s your name, then?” 

Louis looks up at the man; he’s taller than Louis remembers, as impossible as it seems. A great, wiry grey beard hangs from his face, almost reaching to the top of his belly, with rosy cheeks that reach all the way up to his soft brown eyes; crinkled by the grin that’s spread across his face. A giant - but a gentle one, to be sure. Louis relaxes in his presence. 

“I’m Louis Tomlinson. Nice to see you again, Mr. Hagrid.” 

The man lets out a hearty laugh, jutting a meaty thumb out in Louis’ direction. "Get a load 'f that! ‘M just Hagrid out here, ‘m boy. No need for all the formal-ness of the ‘Mr’s,’ and what have you.”

“Right,” Louis feels the creeping flush of embarrassment rise to his face. “So, what are we doing today?" 

“Well, as ‘m gettin’ on in age, there’s a few things I can’t quite get to ‘round here." Hagrid taps at the tip of his large boots with the mahogany cane. "The heavier work always gets me knees actin' up. Guess’ll have you boys help me with some ‘o that this week. S’pose we could start on mendin’ the fence for the Hippogriff’s, wood is gettin’ weathered pretty bad out there.” 

Louis’ throat jumps. “We’re… We’re going to see the Hippogriffs today?” 

“Aw now, you sound afraid!” Hagrid laughs loudly, dialing it back as he reads Louis’ face. “Well, I s'pose they are touchy creatures, them are, but once 'ya get in their good graces, they’re jus’ sweet as can be. Tell ‘em Harry, how quickly they warmed up t’ya! Startin’ to think they like him more than they like me, now.” 

Louis whips his head confusedly in Harry’s direction, and the boy simply shrugs. 

“Hagrid, they only ‘warmed up,’ after I brought that bucket of worms out for them. They definitely do not _like me more_ when come out empty-handed.” His tone is sarcastic, but Louis recognizes a strangely-placed fondness in Harry’s eyes, the slight quirk of his lips.

Hagrid claps Harry on the back with a grin. “Well, now they’re expectin’ it! You brought them a squirmy delicacy, y’did.” 

Louis shakes his head in utter bewilderment. “What are _you_ doing with the Hippogriffs?”

“They’re Harry’s favorite, though obviously that’s not a popular opinion, ‘round here.” says Hagrid. “Years now, I been trying to show him something he might like better, but them Hippogriffs been his favorite from the start. Most people don’t like ‘em, but they’re jus’ misunderstood. Sensitive and prideful creatures, Hippogriffs.” 

Clearly, Louis has missed out on something, as Harry and Hagrid seem to have a relationship beyond what Louis would have ever originally imagined. Which makes very little sense to Louis, considering Hagrid seems exactly like the type of person Harry would mock and mistreat for _sport_. 

“They’re still just…terrifying.” Louis insists quietly. 

“A'right then, maybe we’ll work up ’t the Hippogriffs, in time. If ya’d like, you can get food for tonight’s dinner for the Knarls, I’m sure they’d like havin' something fresh.” 

What on Earth a _Knarl_ was, Louis had no idea, but they sounded equally as horrifying as the Hippogriffs he was avoiding.

Harry, however, nods along, apparently completely on board with the idea, “We’ll head out to the garden, Hagrid, and meet you back here.” 

Hagrid waves Harry away with a scoff. “Ah, ya hardly need me t’feed them Knarls by now. Jus’ find me in the stables when you’re done, I’ll get dinner 't the Porlocks in the meantime.” 

All these words sound like complete gibberish to Louis, but Harry seemingly knows exactly what’s happening - so he follows stupidly behind as Harry approaches a large wooden cabinet stationed outside the hut, fetching himself a pair of gloves, and two baskets. He wordlessly hands Louis a pair of gloves, and Louis gets the feeling he probably should have changed his shoes before he came. 

There’s a serene quiet that’s spread over the wooded area, something that both sets Louis on edge and calms him at the same time - he’s never been this far off the school’s grounds, but Hagrid was a Professor, and he would never send them anywhere dangerous - Louis _hopes so,_ at least.

They go on further into the forest, Harry leading them down a barely-survived dirt path, covered in crisp, fall-bitten leaves and winding roots from the trees. Ahead of them, Louis catches sight of a small, dilapidated shed with a clear roof - a greenhouse. As they come closer, Harry begins to peel his jumper off, wrapping it in a knot around his waist. 

“It's really warm in here,” Harry warns over his shoulder, cuffing the sleeves of his white undershirt. “You should take that off, you’ll sweat like a madman.” 

Louis nods, mimicking Harry’s actions with his own outerwear. Harry holds the door open, gesturing for Louis to step inside. 

Louis suppresses a gasp as he takes it all in - the interior of the shed stretches far beyond what the outside would lead anyone to believe, home to rows and rows of various vegetables and hanging plants, and _Godric,_ Louis loved magic. Harry was right, though; the temperature reminded Louis of a tropical island, tiny beads of moisture immediately forming on his face. 

Without missing a beat, Harry takes a navy-blue apron down from a hook off the wall, looping it around his neck and tying it behind his back. There are two pockets sewn onto the front, each filled with a tool; one spade, and a tiny three-pronged rake.

“Come on, the daisies are out back.” 

“ _Daisies_?” 

Louis' question goes unanswered. Harry leads them around tables of vegetation to a door in the back, and they come to an even larger space, this one looking like a gorgeous open field rather than a room in a tiny greenhouse.

How this could all fit in the tiny shed Louis saw outside, was one of the wonders of magic that he would never stop being in awe of. There were patches of flowers everywhere Louis looked, stalks of sunflowers to his left and rows of poppies to his right - and directly ahead, a larger expanse dedicated to _endless_ daisies. 

“This is - pretty fucking cool.” Louis grins, unable to help himself. Magic was truly the most special thing in the world, and he felt so lucky to be standing in the midst of it all.

“Yeah, it’s alright.” 

Louis watches as Harry guides them through he flowers, and recalls his conversation with Professor Doyle about making peace - was it even worth it to try with Harry? Every effort up to this point had proven to be a monumental waste of his time, but upon further thought, Louis realizes that Harry is right - if they couldn’t at least speak to each other, it was going to be a long week.

Louis takes a chance, asking casually, “Why so many daises?” 

“I thought we weren’t making small talk?” Harry reminds Louis with a smirk, and his desire for peace leaves as soon as it came.

“You’re impossible, Styles. Never mind.” 

“ _Fucking hell_ , take a joke.” Harry shrugs. “It's what the Knarls like the best. Tried planting all these others flowers to see if there was something else they’ll eat, but it’s just the daises." 

Harry hands Louis a wicker container. “Fill this, then we’ll go and feed them.” 

It feels strange to be taking orders from Harry, and Louis is curious as to how Harry even _knows_ so much about all this. Had he spent that many detentions with Hagrid before? Approaching a random patch of daises, Louis makes sure Harry isn’t watching before he bends down and takes a whiff of the pretty white flowers. 

“Hagrid says you’ve been coming out here for years, then?” Louis asks, plucking the bud of a daisy, and tossing it in the basket. A few petals stick to his fingers, and he shakes them away. “What did he mean by that?" 

Harry eyeballs Louis' technique warily, heading over to where Louis is and crouching to his knees. “They like the stems and roots, it’s their favorite part. If you can pull from the bottom,” Harry instructs, grunting slightly as he pulls up on the plant, “You’ll get the whole thing.” 

“Oh.” Louis wasn’t aware that there was a _Styles-approved flower-picking technique._ “Alright." 

Harry nods, and returns to his own area in the flowerbed a few feet away. “I’ve been coming out here to help for a while now, yeah. I guess it’s been a few years.” 

“Why?” Louis asks, finding a clump of the flowers together, tugging them from the base like Harry showed him. 

“Dunno, I took the class back in third year. Felt bad seeing this old man working out here all alone, tending to all these animals. Seemed impossible to me that he could keep up with them all. I was right, sort of. I’ve always got a lot to do when I come out.”

Louis briefly imagines Hagrid hobbling lamely around the entire back property, feeding each of the animals by himself, cane thrown over his arm - and instantly understands Harry's worry. What he's not so quick to understand is _why._ In what universe would _Styles_ feel compelled to assist the professor?

“How often do you come… _help_?” 

“I try to come every day,” Harry says, a picture of nonchalance, “Even if it’s just for a bit.” 

“ _Every_ day?” Hearing the shock in Louis’ voice, Harry looks up from the ground, one eyebrow raised. “What?” Louis asks. 

“You sound shocked, is all.” 

“Quite frankly, I am. What, does he give you extra credit in class, or something?” 

“Does it seem so absurd that I would do something just to do it? Out of the kindness of my heart?” 

“It seems absurd that you would do anything kind at all.” Louis shoots back, and Harry’s face falls. 

“I deserve that.” Harry replies thoughtfully. “Look. About the other day, I really need you to know that I’m-“

“We don’t have to talk about it.” says Louis vehemently. “We really, really don’t need to talk about it.” 

“I just want to you to know how sorry-“ 

“ _No!_ ” Louis comes to his feet suddenly, and Harry stands too, brows knitted together in confusion. “Do _not_ apologize to me, Styles. Because then the right thing to do would be to forgive you, and I don’t know if I’m ready to do that yet. _If_ I’ll ever be ready. You _humiliated_ me, and - and I have every right to angry, for as long as I want to be, and you asking for forgiveness means that I don’t get to be angry anymore. So just _don’t_.” 

“I’m not asking for forgiveness,” says Harry sternly. “I know what I did was - it was completely fucked up. You didn’t deserve that." 

“You’re - you're right,” Louis agrees. He narrows his eyes, searching Harry’s face for any trace of mockery, but he doesn’t find any. As odd as it seems, the boy is sincere. “You’re absolutely right.”

Louis expects for Harry to say more, but he doesn’t. He simply turns and continues to collect daisies, so Louis does too.

It feels like he’s on a different planet, in an alternate universe, one where _Harry Styles, Gryffindor jock and Captain of the bloody Quidditch team,_ wears an apron and picks flowers in his free time. _For fun._

“So what’s your issue with Hippogriffs, then?” 

Louis huffs. “I don’t have an _issue_ , really. They’re just… huge.” 

“And?” 

“ _And_ , they’re bloody scary! Half eagle, half horse? Those huge talon-claw things? I’ll pass." At this, Harry snorts, and Louis pauses, searching for a better way to make Harry understand. "Animals in the Muggle world don’t usually combine with other animals, they’re just, like, the one thing. Well, I guess there are _Ligers_ , but that doesn’t really count because tigers and lions are already so much alike that it doesn’t make much of a difference-“ 

“I have _no_ idea what you’re talking about.” Harry laughs outright, bringing Louis out of his rambling. It’s the first time he’s heard the boy laugh in a way that wasn’t snarky, or belittling. Louis hates to admit it, but it’s actually kind of sweet, the way Harry's nose scrunches up and little crinkles appear around his eyes, and what in the _absolute fuck_ , was that a _dimple?_

Louis watches Harry for a moment, examines the easy way he works, pulling up the flowers and tossing them in the basket - the way his back muscles flutter with each movement, and - _fuck. What?_ No. Louis is absolutely _not_ thinking of that.

It’s unsettling, this version of Harry. The version of him that’s relaxed, _civil,_ even _._ Louis doesn’t trust it, not one bit. It could only be a matter of time before he snapped back into his normal self, and he’d begin hurling insults at Louis every time he opens his mouth, as per usual.

Louis flushes pink. “I’m just saying, it’s not necessary for an animal to be two parts of a scary thing to make one, _large_ scary thing. It’s not the way nature intended it.” 

“I think that’s enough,” Harry claps his hands free of dirt, taking the gloves off and slinging them to rest over his shoulder. “This should be enough for tonight and tomorrow’s dinner, in case I don’t get the chance to come after Quidditch practice.” 

Louis is only slightly disappointed when they leave the magical greenhouse, shivering against the temperature difference of the brisk September air.

They come to a wooden corral, that’s about two feet high, and six feet wide - Louis can’t quite see what’s inside from this far away, but he reasons that nothing _too_ terrifying could be in a space that small, _right_? 

“What’re you waiting for?” Harry asks, a sly smirk on his face that Louis does not like _at all._

“If something jumps up at me Styles, I swear to Godric-“ 

“Would you stop being so dramatic? Honestly. Come look at what you’re jumping out of your knickers for." 

Louis swallows past his fear, closing the distance between him and the wooden gate… He looks down into the enclosure to see six tiny, brown-spiked creatures, squealing and scurrying in the dirt. 

“ _Oh!”_ Louis lowers himself to see the things better, laughing in relief. _"_ You didn’t say we were coming to feed hedgehogs!” 

Harry glances confusedly at Louis. “These... These aren’t dogs at all, Tomlinson. They’re Knarls.” 

“Not hedge _dogs,_ hedge _hogs._ They’re cute!” 

Reaching into his basket, Louis pulls out a clumpy handful of daisies and moves to place them in the enclosure, before a hand on his forearm stops him short. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Harry warns, taking the plants from Louis’s grip. “Knarls are a bit… Paranoid. They think that any attempt to feed them is an attempt to trap them, and they’ll take a chunk out of your hand for that.” 

“W-what?” Horrified, Louis staggers back. “See! _This_ is why magical animals freak me out. How could something that cute take a _chunk_ out of my hand?!" 

“You just have to make them believe it was their idea, like they’ve found their own dinner.” Harry walks around the length of the enclosure, pulling a large wooden plank up from the ground. He places it vertically in the midway point of the enclosure, successfully trapping the creatures to one side of the habitat.

“I usually bury them like this, so they’ll think they’ve dug them up fresh. ’S why the roots and stems are so important.” 

Harry surrounds the plants with soil, leaving a few petals poking out of the ground. He moves to lift the wood-panel barrier, and the tiny spiked creatures come scuttling through, digging the flowers up with fervor and munching happily. 

“See?” Harry meets Louis’ alarmed expression with a goofy smile, dimple popped in his rounded cheek. “Harmless.” 

•◈•

“How’d it go?” 

Hagrid waves at them from down the path, and Louis exhales, relieved to see the tall man and his cobblestone hut coming into view.

“Louis nearly wet himself, but we managed to make it out of there alive.” Harry replies cheekily.

Louis does _not_ miss the way Harry has called him by his first name. It’s the second time he’s ever done it, and it still makes him uneasy. 

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re ‘fraid of them wee Knarls, too!” 

“To be fair, I didn’t know what they were.” Louis grumbles. “I’ll have you know I am perfectly fine with Knarls, now." 

“Good to know you’ve at least made a bit o’ progress for today. Them Knarls are the tiniest little things we got ‘round here, no way we’d get you near a Hippogriff if you hadn’t liked them.”

“Don’t worry Hagrid, we’ll shape him up for the Hippogriffs later in the week.” Harry comments, and Louis shoots him a glare.

“What’re you boys in detention for, anyhow? A week’s quite the sentence.”

An odd look is shared between Louis and Harry, and Louis speaks up, “We, erm, got in a… _fight?”_

Louis notices the way Harry’s face scrunches up at his choice of words. It was hardly a fight, and Louis _knows_ it, but he doesn’t know another way to explain it. At least not in a way that would make any sense. Hagrid looks between the two of them confusedly.

“Y’seem buddy enough t’me. Don’t worry, friendship usually stands up ’t the tests of time, or sumthin’ like that.”

Louis doesn’t have the heart to tell the man that they most certainly were _not_ friends, opting instead to nod and smile politely.

After wishing Hagrid a good night, Harry and Louis begin climbing the steps up the hill back to school, and Louis realizes, with more than a little surprise, that spending the afternoon with Harry wasn’t as absolutely awful as he assumed it would be. In fact, he would even go as far as to say it had been… bearable.

“Wasn’t so bad, huh?” Harry asks, almost like he can hear Louis’ thoughts. Louis gives him a tight-lipped smile, praying his cheeks aren’t flushed. Then Harry pulls his wand out, and without warning or before Louis can open his mouth to object, Harry is already casting at him, “ _Scourgify_!”

Louis jumps back, “What in the _hell_?”

“You had mud on your shirt,” Harry says sheepishly, stowing his wand away. “You’d wanna get it out now before it, erm, stains.”

Louis blinks. Had Harry just done something _thoughtful_?

“Just… Warn a lad before you go pointing a wand in his face,” He chuckles dryly. They continue walking, reaching the top of the hill. “What do you think we’ll do tomorrow?”

“Dunno, probably some more chores Hagrid or I haven’t gotten around to yet. Maybe I can show you the Porlocks, we’ve got two now.” Harry says, and Louis can hear the slight edge of excitement in his voice. “Took ages to get Hagrid to show them to me ‘cause they’re normally pretty skittish around new people, but I think if we-“

 _“Oi,_ Styles! Fuck you doin’ out here, mate?”

“Tomlinson givin’ you trouble again?”

Louis cringes.

Two Gryffindors stand at the end of the corridor, waving Harry down. Louis recognizes the taller of the pair to be Kinnick, one of the Gryffindor Chasers from their last match. 

Louis watches as Harry almost seems to transform before his eyes, his posture shifting taller and the softness leaving his eyes that Louis had seen all afternoon. Louis should have known better, he was stupid to think Styles could ever be different. It was all an act. This is who Harry truly is, who he has always been.

“I’ll be up in a second.” Even his voice sounds different. Deeper, more sharp, and it makes Louis boil inside.

“I’ll be going, then.” Louis snaps, unable to leave the bitterness from his tone.“Y’know, Quidditch practice.”

“Right,” Harry nods with a shrug. “Whatever.”

Louis rolls his eyes with a scoff, turning and starting down the hallway by himself - keeping his head down at the snickering Gryffindors as he passes.

•◈•

At breakfast on Tuesday, Louis takes a banana and sneaks it out of the Great Hall as a snack for after classes - he’d learned his lesson the day before, as he realized entirely too late that he hadn’t brought anything to wear to practice.

He had to sprint all the way to the dungeons, change his clothes, and made a mad dash back to the pitch to start warming up; effectively skipping dinner. He’d felt woozy the entire time, but he pushed through the dizzy feelings and gave a hundred percent to his team. It wasn’t fair to give them any less, and it was especially what they deserved after Louis fucked up their house lead by a hundred points.

Upon further thought, Louis takes a second banana and stashes it.

After classes, when he’s walking down the steps from the courtyard, Louis can see that Harry and Hagrid are already outside, chatting over the pumpkin patch.

“Nice of ya to join us, Louis!” Hagrid calls, and Louis picks up the pace, trotting down the rest of the way.

“Thought it would be wise to change my shoes before I came,” Louis explains apologetically. “Ruined my best shoes yesterday.” He’d also had the sense to bring the duffle with all of his Quidditch gear along with him, thank Merlin.

Hagrid chortles knowingly, tapping the ground with his cane. “Of course, that will happen. Ya’ve got to watch out for the mud, and the erm, _droppings_.”

•◈•

They’re in the greenhouse later, Louis sweeping up dirt and Harry re-potting the vegetables in their hanging planters, fixing them on high shelves.

Upon feeling a grumble in his stomach, Louis walks over to his bag, and pulls a banana out; grateful for his own foresight. He glances back at Harry, who’s still rooting around in the dirt, and back to the extra fruit in his bag.

Louis clears his throat. “Do you, um, want a banana? Got an extra.”

“Hm?” Harry pokes his head up, a hint of a smile quirking on his lips. “Oh. I would, actually. I love bananas.”

Louis hops up on the counter top, crossing his legs, and Harry joins him. They sit in silence, eating fruit, and Louis thinks how it doesn’t _completely_ suck.

“It’s really nice in here,” Louis notes, realizing he’s sat on a clean steel surface, save for some dirt from the pots - but everything else inside the greenhouse looks brand new, from the tools hung on the wall to the nice tables. It’s a stark contrast from the way the greenhouse looks on the outside, with rotting wood and rusty doornails.

“I only had to beg for it,” Harry murmurs sharply. “Absolutely ridiculous how much effort it takes to get stuff as simple as new tables. Hagrid didn’t even have stables until last term. He’s the _Gamekeeper._ Where exactly is he meant to _keep_ them, in his pocket?”

A small giggle escapes Louis’ mouth at the lame pun before he can smother it down. Harry glances sidelong at him, just as surprised to have made the boy laugh. They share a brief moment of eye contact before returning to look at their snacks.

“What do you mean, _you_ had to beg for it? Why didn’t Hagrid?”

“He’s not the type.” replies Harry. He takes a final bite of his banana, placing the peel beside him. “Hagrid is the type to suffer in silence. Struggle, so he doesn’t inconvenience anyone else. He’d just say _‘Oh, ’s alright. We’ll make do with wi’ we’ve got.”_ Harry drops his tone at the end of his sentence, copying the same gruff country accent Hagrid had.

“That’s a pretty solid Hagrid impression.”

“I’d hope so. I’ve only been honing it for four years.”

Louis suppresses another smile. “So you went to McGonagall yourself?”

“I didn’t see another choice. Everything I asked for was just what they needed out here, nothing extra. All the other Professors get nice stuff for their classrooms, ’s only fair that Hagrid does too.”

There’s a nonchalance behind Harry’s words, like it was no big deal, but Louis knows there was probably more to it than he’s letting on.

Finishing off his banana, Louis jumps down from the counter, taking his peel to the small bin off to the side.

“Oh, hey, I’ll take that,” Harry says suddenly.

Louis turns, confused to see Harry’s outstretched hand. “You’ll take my banana peel?”

“Composting,” explains Harry, collecting their peels and striding over to a wooden box tucked away in the corner. He lifts it, tossing both of them inside. “Better for the environment.”

“Composting,” Louis deadpans, taking his seat back on the counter. “Who _are_ you?”

“It’s not that big a deal, it makes for good fertilizer-”

Louis feels something brush against his leg, and he swats at it absently, not expecting to hit an object both furry and _warm_. When he looks down, Louis’ hair stands on end.

_“AGH!”_

Louis scrambles backwards until he’s completely on top of the table, drawing his knees in to his chest and cradling himself. His breath hitches, until he’s hyperventilating.

“ _S-STYLES_!”

Below him, a creature looks up with wide eyes, fur bristled in fear. It backs away, making a low growling noise before scuttling under a table.

“ _What_? What are you _screaming_ for?!”

 _“Look at_ _\- THIS THING - IT’S -“_

“It’s just _Teddy!_ Fucking hell, Tomlinson!” Harry crosses the room, crouching down to where the animal has hidden. Harry offers his hand, and the thing pokes its head out, sniffing at it and nuzzling into it, coming out fully. Harry scratches the space between its ears. “You _scared her.”_

 _“_ T-Teddy?” Louis struggles to catch his breath. “It’s a _her_? What _is_ _it?”_

The massive animal resembled a cat, only much larger; with its golden coat, large pointy ears, and fluffed-plume tail, it looked more like a miniature lion than anything else.

“Holy hell, have you not seen a _Kneazle_ before _,_ Tomlinson?” Harry exhaled a sigh, putting a hand to his chest. “Fuck’s sake, the way you screamed - and it was just _Teddy_.”

Louis scoffs. “Oh - I’m _so_ sorry that _you_ neglected to inform me about the small jungle cat that would be joining us today.”

“It’s just Teddy!” Harry repeats. “I didn’t think there needed to be an introduction, she’s _Hagrid’s_. She usually sleeps in the hut, but she roams around sometimes - you really _are_ spooked by the magical creatures, huh?”

Now that Louis’ collected his breath, he swings a cautious leg over the side of the table.

“I didn’t know - it was _touching me -“_ Louis narrows his eyes _. “_ Are you - are you _laughing at me?_ ”

Harry’s lips are pressed tightly together, his mouth trembling to contain his smile. He shakes his head.

“I’m not.” Harry’s shoulders shake, and he bites onto his bottom lip. “Swear, ‘m not.”

Despite the panic still lingering in his chest, Louis lets out a strand of bubbly giggles. “You are. You’re absolutely laughing at me.”

Unable to contain it, Harry snorts into his hand, until it turns into full-out laughter, high and loud in the small space. Louis laughs with him, until his sides ache and Teddy is looking between the both of them with wide eyes.

“C’mere.” Harry gestures for Louis to come over to him, as he wipes a tear from under his eye. “ _Godric_ , that was funny. Could’ve pissed myself. C’mon then, I’ll introduce you two.”

Louis slips off the surface of the table with a sigh, timidly crossing over to where Harry sits. The creature is as tall as Harry is on his knees, and it regards Louis with suspicion as he comes closer.

Louis allows the creature to gingerly sniff his hand until she’s satisfied, nudging his fist with her head as a signal to stroke her. Louis does, the tension in his body disappearing as the creature vibrates lowly, purring under his touch.

“Tomlinson, this is Teddy,” Harry chuckles. “Teddy, Tomlinson. Now that you two know each other, can we keep the screaming to a minimum?”

“I didn’t _scream_.” Louis insists.

“Oh really?” Harry snickers. He rests his elbow on his bended knee, tilting his face into his own hand. “What would you call that, then?”

“A shout. It was a manly shout for assistance.”

“You screamed for help.”

Louis reddens. “And you will too, if you ever tell anyone about this.”

Harry’s eyes go wide, and he falls back onto his arse, rolling with laughter.

•◈•

Wednesday comes and Louis has a small spring in his step.

It’s the middle of the week, and he is exhausted - but in the best possible way. He’s felt a sort of pleasant tiredness at the end of each day, what with his new schedule of schooling, Hagrid’s, and Quidditch practice; hitting his pillows each night feeling like he really _deserves_ every moment of sleep he’s getting, even if his entire body aches the next day. Detention was certainly not how he thought he’d start his last term at school, but it’s keeping him busy, and allowing Louis to see more of Hogwarts than he ever would have.

They’d already fed Hagrid’s Fwooper, ( _whose name Louis was sure was a joke, and he forced Harry to repeat several times,_ ) as well as an adorable cluster of creatures called Puffskeins - which Harry assured were some of the most useless wizarding animals ever _._

_“What do they do?” Louis asked, standing back a few feet as Harry handled the new creatures. He raised on his tiptoes in an effort to see over Harry’s shoulder without moving closer. “What’s their thing?”_

_Harry looked up from the cage, bemused. “What do you mean?”_

_“Do they breathe fire? Are there razor-sharp claws under all that fluff?”_

_“They’re completely and totally harmless. They actually make good pets for kids, ‘cause they liked to be tossed around.”_

_"Yeah, okay." Louis rolled his eyes. “Like I’ll believe that.”_

_“No, really. Look at them. Do they look very menacing to you?”_

_Louis considered this for a moment, examining the spheres of fluff. They looked like candy floss come to life, but Louis knew better than to take any magical creature at face value._

_“Looks can be deceiving, Styles.”_

_“You really don’t believe me.” Harry reached into the cage and pulled out a handful of the creatures, five or six custard-yellow furballs squirming around in his arms. “Honestly. Puffskein hair has a few magical properties, but that’s really the only outstanding thing about them. Other than that, they kind of just laze about.”_

_Louis eyeballed the creatures warily, “You swear? You’re not taking the piss?”_

_“I swear. I wouldn’t lie about the creatures.”_

_There was a steadiness in Harry’s voice that Louis chose to have faith in, so he stepped up to the large cage, reaching inside and taking two in his hand. The pair of puffs began making an odd, low grumbling sound; before Louis could ask, Harry smiled._

_“It’s alright. It means they’re happy. It’s like when cats purr, but instead they do… that.”_

_Louis laughed. “They’re cute. But not the kind of cute where they’re secretly evil and you’d never know, just regular cute.”_

_“They can be kind of gross, sometimes.”_

_Raising the creatures closer to his face, Louis squinted. Two pairs of beady black eyes stared back at him, burrowing further into the palm of his hand. “How do you mean?”_

_“Well, they have super long tongues.” As if on cue, the Puffskein in Louis’ hand rolled out a long, pink tongue, swiping it back and forth in the air. Louis held the thing away from his body at arm’s length._

_“That’s not... super gross, I guess.”_

_“Oh no, that’s not the gross part. The gross part is when they try and stick it up your nose to eat your bogey’s, if you’re not paying attention.”_

_“Gross.”_

•◈•

Once they’d returned inside, Louis was surprised to find a single emerald apron was hung on the hook next to the usual blue one Harry wore - one that hadn’t been there the day before. He wordlessly slips it over his head, and continues on following Harry, with a small smile on his face.

“Just the cucumbers today?” Louis asks. They’d begun preparing vegetables for the Porlocks, the last of their creatures to be attended to on the dinner rounds.

Louis wants to make a comment about how it’s probably unnecessary to chop the food up for the creature, seeing as it's an _animal,_ and it would probably just eat the thing whole if it wanted to -but watching Harry meticulously chop cucumber into tiny slices and arrange them in a little circle on the plate, Louis doesn’t have the heart.

“No,” Harry leans to the other side of the counter, and hands Louis a neatly tied-up bunch of carrots. “These, too. Edgar’s a picky eater, so we try to give him as much as he likes.”

"I like that name. Edgar," Louis comments, and Harry smiles. 

"He's a very proper gentleman. He needed a name to match."

Louis begins to untie the carrots, humming absentmindedly to himself when he feels the prickly heat of eyes on him, and he glances up to find Harry staring.

“What? What’s with the face?”

“You, um,” Harry shrugs, looking back at his own work so Louis doesn’t see the smirk that’s tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You have a nice voice, is all.”

Louis feels his face go red hot. “Oh. I didn’t realize it was that loud, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Harry replies. “It was… pleasant.”

“T-thanks.” Something stirs in his tummy, and Louis urges the feeling away. “I have to hum my favorites every once in a while, or I start to forget what the music sounds like from back home.”

Harry nods, attentive. “What’s Muggle music like?”

Louis glances up. He can’t tell if Harry is taking the piss, asking a question like that - but Harry is looking at him with curious eyes, fully expecting an answer.

“Erm,” Louis stumbles over his thoughts, trying to find a good way to explain it. “There’s a lot of different... _Genres_ … It’s not all that different to music here, but I suppose it depends on what you listen to. It’s good, in my opinion.”

“What do _you_ listen to?” Harry asks.

“Everything,” Louis aches for the little silver iPod that’s lying on his bedroom desk back in Doncaster. “I like a bit of everything, honestly. I don’t have a genre preference, I just like _good_ music.”

“What’s considered _good_ in the Muggle World?”

“That’s subjective.” says Louis. “In my opinion, it’s good if it makes you… feel something. I think that’s how you can tell if anything is good in _life_ , really. If it makes you feel something. No one can take away from you, because if it makes you feel good, what does anyone else’s opinion really matter?”

Harry’s hands are stilled, his gaze attentive. 

“Anyway, I think I might appreciate Muggle music more because they _don’t_ have any special abilities. It can make you _feel_ like magic does, but there is none. No magic, no upper hand,” Louis explains. “Their music is their art. It’s _their_ version of magic.”

“You’re sounding like a true poet, Tomlinson.” Harry bumps Louis with his hip teasingly.

“Shut up,” Louis flushes. He walks over to the small sink in the corner, and begins ripping the leafy tops away, rinsing them under the stream of water to get rid of the dirt. “Why do you ask?” He asks over his shoulder.

“Dunno, just curious. Had some friends that’d gone to a Muggle concert in London and said it was rubbish.”

Louis snorts. "Right, your friends seem exactly like the type to be experts on that sort of thing."

Pausing his hands, Harry looks up with a narrowed gaze. "What does that mean?" 

"Oh, don't you start with all that. I'm sure you're well aware that you don't surround yourself around the most cultured of people."

"You don't have to be a dick. You don't even know them."

Louis glances up with a quirked brow. "You're going to defend them about _this_? Honestly."

"They're my friends," Harry huffs. "Of course I'm going to defend them."

"What do your friends think about all this?" Louis drops the leafy greens in his hands, and waves his hand in the air. Harry drops his gaze. "What do they have to say about your little side-"

"I don't tell them about this." Harry interrupts, without looking up. 

Louis crosses his arms over his chest. "Why not?"

"They wouldn't be interested."

"Why? Because they're not interested in the world around them?"

"Because they don't have to know what I'm doing every second of the bloody day, and I don't expect them to _care_. I'm fine doing things alone." 

"Some friends," Louis mutters, and though it's under his breath, Harry looks up at him tiredly. Though much to Louis's surprise, he doesn't argue any further, simply opting to busy himself with the vegetables instead. 

"I think," Louis starts again, shrugging passively, “That maybe you should come to London and form your own opinions.”

“I’ve never been, and I sincerely doubt a Muggle concert would be very high on my list of priorities if I had.”

Louis’ brows draw together. “You’ve never been to _London_?”

“Of course I have. I’ve been to Diagon Alley hundreds of times. Just never beyond that.”

“You’ve never been beyond Diagon Alley?”

“You say that like it’s absurd.”

“Well, Liam came home with me a few Christmases ago. He said it wasn’t his first time, that his dad took him once before.”

“That’s grand for Liam.”

Louis returns to their mini-work station with clean carrots, and places them on the board for Harry to cut. He wipes his hands on the front of his apron.

“Aren’t you even… a _little_ curious? There’s an entire world outside of this one. Just because it’s magic-free doesn’t mean it’s worthless.”

“My Father would disagree. Y’know, ‘cause he thinks Muggles are idiots.”

Louis shoots a glare in Harry’s direction.

“Bloody hell, Styles. Do you ever actually think about the words you’re about to say before they come out of your mouth?”

“What? I didn’t say it was my opinion. I _personally_ would go out there. I would just be going alone,” Harry draws the last word out slightly, unbidden defeat slipping into his tone, before he shakes it away. “Which really wouldn’t be an option. Dad keeps a pretty close eye on me while I’m home.”

“Afraid you’ll run off and join the circus?”

“I won’t apologize for that. It was only the one time, and I was born to be a star.”

Louis snorts, and leans on the counter, plucking a carrot slice from Harry’s pile of neatly chopped veggies and popping it into his mouth.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I think you should. One day. I think it would give you lots of… insight about your life here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Some may _assume_ Purebloods have the upper hand, but I happen to think it’s beneficial that I’m fluent in both… Cultures.” Louis says, his chest sticking out with pride. “Both Muggle, and Wizard-ing… Stuff. I’m at an advantage.”

Harry cocks his head in question. “How so?”

“Well, in fifth-year Muggle Studies I occasionally got to correct Professor Prott on his so-called ‘knowledge’ of the Muggle World, which gave me _great_ pleasure.”

“Yeah,” Harry nods in agreement. “Hated that guy. Total prick.”

 _“Right?!_ I’m glad it wasn’t just me who thought so. _Godric_ , Liam was completely fascinated by him the entire term. Made me want to vomit on a daily basis.”

“His name _should’ve_ been Professor Prat.”

Louis laughs, the sound echoing in the room and his grin reaching the corners of his eyes.

“Holy shit, how did we not come up with that one!”

•◈•

Thursday brings a torrential downpour of rain, ear-splitting thunder, and lots of lightning - so they spend the afternoon in Hagrid’s cottage, sipping on tea and marking the third year’s essays on the varying dragon breeds.

Louis attempted to explain that he wasn’t exactly an experts on dragon breeds, and that the third-years probably ( _definitely)_ knew more than he did on the topic; so Harry instructed that Louis simply search for spelling errors, and Harry would grade the content of the essays.

As they're working in comfortable silence, Hagrid hobbles to the rack and shrugs on a coat, collecting his umbrella from the stand positioned by the door.

“I’m off, lads."

“Where you headed?” inquires Harry, not bothering to look up from his papers. Louis wonders briefly how often Harry is left alone out here, as he seemed perfectly at ease with the idea.

“Seems there’s been an Occamy seized by the Department of Magical Creatures - somethin’ ‘bout improper care from ‘er previous owners. They’re gonna find a proper home for ‘er, but in the meantime thought it would be best for ‘er to be here. Educational, and all that.”

This immediately grabs Harry’s attention, a giddy excitement spread across his face like Louis has never seen before. “An _Occamy_? Coming here?”

“Only for a few weeks, Harry. You can’t get too attached. I’ve made that mistake too many times,” Hagrid warns wistfully. “But I reckon she’ll be lovely, she will. Fer the time we’ll have ‘er, at least. Anyhow - won’t be back till tomorrow night, will ya make sure everybody’s in order?”

“Will do.” Harry nods.

•◈•

“Hey,” Louis says awhile later, squinting at a word on the page, reading it slowly as to not completely butcher it, “The… An-tipode-dean Opaleye-”

“Antipodean, yeah.”

Louis rolls his eyes at the way the word slides smoothly off Harry’s tongue. “Right. How do you spell that again?”

“Really, a third year attempted that? Bold. A-N-T-I-P-O-D-E-A-N.”

“And the, um, Swedish Short-Snout…?”

“Hyphenated, not one word.”

“Got it,” Louis taps the soft feather of his quill against his lips, circling boldly around the misspelled word. It’s the last of his stack, though there’s still a sizable pile of assignments left on the table. Louis peeks up at Harry, whose brows are furrowed deep in concentration as his eyes scan across the page.

It’s well past the time they’re allotted for detention, and Louis realizes this - but there’s something comfortable in the space as the rain patters down on the roof of the hut, smell of it coming in through the open window. Teddy curled up in the corner on her massive fluffy bed, dozing peacefully.

He’s got nowhere else to be, so Louis gets up to pour himself a second cuppa, and dives into another stack of essays.

Harry gives him a strange look as he sits back down. “Don’t you have practice?”

“Can’t have practice with active lightning,” Louis replies instantly. “You know that.”

“Oh. Right,” Harry considers this for a moment, glancing out the window where the rain is streaming in tiny rivers down the glass. “You don’t have to stay, you know.”

“I’m aware,” Louis brings his gaze up, where Harry’s already looking at him. Louis tears his eyes away, feeling heat rise to his face. He clears his throat.

“When do the Gryffindors practice, anyway? I feel like I never see you lot on the pitch. Maybe that’s why we whipped you guys so badly.” Louis remarks cheekily, instantly feeling regret when Harry looks at him with one raised eyebrow. _Shit_.

“I wouldn’t call that getting _whipped,”_ Harry counters after a moment, and Louis releases the breath he’d been holding in. “We practice in the mornings. Five o’clock start.”

“In the morning?” Louis’ nose scrunches up. “They agreed to morning practices?”

“They did if they wanted to be on the team.”

“That’s pretty hardcore, Styles.”

Harry shrugs. “It’s not so bad, really. Think they’re used to it by now. Nothing quite wakes you up like avoiding getting hit in the face with a Bludger.”

“I’m sure nothing wakes you up like _actually_ getting hit with one, either.” Louis retorts.

“Suppose they’ll go back to afternoon practices next year, while I’m off at the Ministry of Magic and some other bloke is Captain.”

“Ministry of Magic?” Louis asks. “Don’t you want, like, a career in animals?”

Harry looks up, amused. “What exactly does a career in _animals_ entail? Maybe I’ll have a career as a dragon. Do kid’s parties.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean. Like what Hagrid does.”

The cheekiness leaves Harry’s expression. “Wouldn’t be able to do that. My father would never speak to me again.”

“Then what was the point? Of taking the class all these years, helping Hagrid?”

“I haven’t taken the class since third year.” Harry says simply.

Louis tilts his head quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“My father had a full-on fit when he found out I was taking the class, ‘specially since Hagrid teaches it. Thinks he’s a nutter, that the course is a waste of time.”

“So you just… stopped taking the class altogether?”

“Yup.”

"That's awful," Louis says, frowning.

"It wasn't that big a deal."

A crack of thunder rattles the windows then, a brilliant score of lightning illuminating the entire field just outside the hut. Louis and Harry both startle, even Teddy snoozing in the corner jumping to her feet. Harry rises to shut the open windows as the rain comes down harder, pelting the roof in steady waves. Harry stops on his way back to the table to scratch Teddy between the ears, soothing her until she curls back up in her cushioned bed.

“But… I thought you liked the animals?”

“I do,” Harry snaps defensively. “Of course I do. I care about them.”

Louis tilts his head to gesture for Harry to continue, waving his hands. “So?”

“So… My father just has his heart set on me working alongside him when I’m older.”

“Oh,” Louis swirls his tea. It’s gone cold. “Why don’t you just… tell him you’d rather do this?”

“As much as I wish it was, it’s not that simple.”

“It could be,” Louis insists.

“You wouldn’t get it.” Harry replies.

Louis bristles. “Why? Because I’m Muggle-born?”

“No,” Harry sighs. “Godric - that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry if it came off that way.”

“Will you be _happy_ working for the Ministry?”

Harry considers this for a moment. “I don’t think that matters much.”

“It should matter to you.”

“My family has expectations, and I have to meet them.” Harry says simply. “It’s fine for right now, but I can’t run around with magical creatures all day long and make a career of it. It’s not realistic.”

Louis blinks. “Did your father tell you that?”

Harry meets Louis’ eyes then, and Louis isn’t sure if he’s crossed a line, the line of whatever unspoken truce they’ve drawn for the week - but part of him doesn’t care. It seems like this is the first time Harry’s had a conversation about something as simple as his own _feelings._ He gives Louis a long look, but directs his gaze back to his stack of essays, shaking his head.

 _“_ You ask a lot of questions, Tomlinson.”

 _"_ Just seems odd to me that you’d force yourself to work some briefcase, monkey-suit job because _Daddy_ says it has to be so. You seem to really excel at-“ Louis waves his arm around, “All this.”

“Enough,” Harry says suddenly. His grip goes tight around the quill he’s holding. “Stop acting like you know me. You don’t.”

“Think I know you well enough to know you’d be miserable there. You should do what _you_ want to do. It’s important to be happy.”

“Have you quite finished?” Harry asks. “Because it’s pretty difficult to concentrate with you prattling on in my ear with all your motivational bullshit.”

There’s a few moments of silence as Louis incredulously scans Harry’s face, before the legs of his chair screech against the stone floor and he stands.

“Yeah. I’ve finished.”

He crosses to the corner of the room to retrieve his bag, slinging it over his shoulder and heading for the door.

“Wait, fuck - I didn’t mean that.” Harry groans. “You can’t go out in that, it’s awful.”

Louis stops short with one hand on the door handle, shooting a glare over his shoulder. Another booming clap of thunder echoes then, but this time Louis doesn’t flinch.

“I’ll manage.”

•◈•

Friday arrives and they’ve developed something of a routine, flowing well together as they work on opposite sides of the room.

“Hey,” Harry says after a stretch of quiet, his back turned. “I’m… I’m sorry about yesterday. It’s not my favorite subject.”

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up. He holds back the remark that’s ready on his tongue. “I gathered that.”

“I get your concern, but I’ve gone my whole life knowing exactly what I’m going to do as soon as I leave school. It’s not a surprise and I’m not sad about it.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Louis shrugs noncommittally. “Alright.”

“Do you think you’re ready for the Hippogriffs today?” Harry asks, and Louis pauses. It’s their last day of detention, and he’s quite proud of himself for surviving the week with minimal anxiety - he’s gained a new appreciation for magical creatures, even if they do still freak him out. But no one had mentioned the Hippogriffs since Monday, and Louis was hoping he’d go the entire week without having to encounter one.

“Is it… Completely necessary?”

Harry shrugs. “Hagrid won’t be back till later on, but I know he really needed that fence mended. Suppose I could do it by myself, but it would help if you were there.”

Louis sighs. “You promise it won’t, like, stomp me to death?”

“I can’t promise you it _won’t_ happen,” Harry replies honestly. “But I _do_ promise to show you the proper way to act around one, so it’s way less likely. You’ll probably be fine."

“I don’t love those odds, mate.” Louis admits warily, his shoulders slumping. “They really trust you? To like, introduce us?”

“Well s’not a dinner party, but I’ll do my best to be a good social buffer.”

“Harry, if you’re going to take the piss, I’m definitely not going out there.” Harry freezes, eyes round and wide. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You called me Harry.”

 _Shit._ “Well,” Louis swallows, desperate to seem aloof. “That is your name, isn’t it?”

Harry doesn’t look so convinced. They hold each other’s stare for a beat.

“You know what? Fine. Let’s just get this over with,” Louis rushes out, laughing nervously. “Let’s go see the Hippogriffs. I’m not scared.”

The right side of Harry’s mouth twitches then, spreading into a genuine smile, dimples popping in each cheek. “Famous last words, Tomlinson.”

•◈•

Their entire walk to the “ _paddock_ ,” as Harry called it, Louis performs all of the mental acrobats in an effort to convince himself that the Hippogriffs wouldn’t be brought around students if they were really _so_ dangerous, and therefore, Louis was completely safe and had nothing to worry about.

Even so, the closer they come to the enclosure, the more certain Louis is that he’s going to vomit. A wooden fence comes into view, spread out on each side further than Louis can see; Harry easily hops over it, cocking his head for Louis to follow. Louis climbs up the posts, swings two legs over, and drops to the other side.

“Did we need to bring anything?”

“I’ve got everything we need right here.” Harry replies, gesturing to the plain burlap sack thrown over his shoulder, one which the contents of do _not_ smell particularly pleasant.

“What is that?”

“Don’t you think I would’ve told you if I thought you wanted to know?”

Louis catches another whiff of the bag from the carried wind, and scrunches his nose. “You’re right. Never mind.”

Wind clatters and hisses through the leaves, pine needles crunching under their feet, sending a chill down Louis’ spine. The sun is hidden, blocked by an overcast sky that sends shadows dancing all over the forest.

Louis shivers and wraps his arms around himself, _way_ too paranoid for his own good.

“Why do I feel like we’re in a horror film?”

“A what?” Harry asks. He steps carefully over a knobbly tree root. “Watch your step, there.”

“Oh come on, there’s gotta be horror films in-“

Harry’s eyes narrow, and his pace slows to a sudden halt, letting the brown bag fall to the ground. He holds one hand out, Louis’ chest bumping into it mid-step.

“Hold on. I think I hear one.”

Louis listens for anything out of the ordinary, but can’t hear much over the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears.

“I don’t hear anything-“

“ _Hush_.”

They wait there for a moment in silence, and the vulnerability Louis feels standing in the open air is enough to make him dizzy.

“Styles, I-I’m not so sure about this, anymore-” Louis begins to say, but Harry puts up a single finger to interrupt him.

“A bit late for that, now.” Harry says, and Louis feels his entire heart plummet as the creature steps out from behind a tree, standing at its full height with curious eyes. _It’s even bigger than Louis remembers!_

Silver feathers glint in the sun, shimmering as it unfurls great wings, seemingly in warning. The thick chain that rests around its neck rattles as it takes a step forward, and Louis suddenly loses his ability to breathe.

Harry continues on, completely unbothered; he whistles once, long and low. The creature cocks its head in interest while Harry bows, and immediately returns the gesture.

When it picks its head up again, two eyes narrow on Louis, and the Hippogriff releases a small noise in the back of its throat, digging sharp talons twice in the dirt.

“Right, now it’s your turn.” Harry’s voice is soft, but firm. Soothing. “You have to bow.”

Louis trembles as he lowers himself, bowing at the waist.

When he straightens, the beast is significantly closer, and Louis squeaks. It regards Louis with wide, knowing eyes, scanning Louis’ body from top to toe. With each second that passes Louis feels his nerves packing his body with anxious electricity, like he wants to break into a sprint and get far, far away from here.

Then, to Louis’ great relief, the Hippogriff bows its head.

“Oh _thank fuck_ ,” Louis whimpers nervously. There’s only a few feet between him and the ginormous creature, and Louis is certain the thing can smell his fear. “N-now what am I meant to do?”

“She likes you,” Harry notes brightly, nodding with a smile. “You’re doing great. Just keep eye contact, and approach her slowly.”

It takes a massive effort on Louis’ part to convince himself to take even one step closer. It’s like his brain and body are disconnected, because he can’t bring himself to move. It feels like his feet have grown roots, and he’s stuck to this very spot.

“Go on,” Harry whispers from behind him, Louis’ skin jumping as he feels a gentle touch at the base of his spine - Harry’s hand is there, softly guiding him. “You can do it. I’m right here.”

Louis releases a shuddered sigh, taking two, molasses-slow steps forward, his breath catching when the creature takes a step towards him as well. Louis braces himself, body going completely rigid as the beast leans forward with her large, serrated beak and takes a whiff of the air surrounding Louis’ head.

The Hippogriff snorts out a puff of air near his left ear and Louis shuts his eyes against the sensation, instantly preparing for the worst.

“She’s not going to hurt you,” Harry says, and Louis can hear the gentle amusement in his tone as steps up next to Louis. “You can open your eyes, it’s alright. You’re okay.”

The animal snorts once more in his other ear, and Louis’ fingernails dig into his palms.

“Why is she doing that?” Louis grits out, eyes still closed. “It’s freaking me out.”

Harry laughs. “Smelling you? She’s getting to know you. Consider it her version of shaking hands.”

Gathering courage, Louis peeks out one squinted eye, his breath hitching as he meets a pair dazzling orange eyes; even though he’s feeling rather faint, Louis can still admit that they’re beautiful, mesmerizing. He can’t look away.

“This is Glorywing,” Harry says, reaching a hand up with ease to stroke down her back. “She’s very sweet. Well, they all are, but she’s the least temperamental. You can touch her, if you like.”

Louis’s eyes go wide.

“I-I’m alright just where I am.”Louis stays put until Harry rolls his eyes and takes Louis’ hand, placing it on the animal’s neck. Harry keeps it there, carefully pulling it in a downward motion, so Louis is effectively petting the Hippogriff. _He’s petting a Hippogriff!_

 _“Oh,”_ Louis exhales, his voice full of awe, not conscious enough to be ashamed of his own breathlessness. Gooseflesh raises the hair on his arm, an exhilarating shiver vibrating through his body. The steady thrumming of each mighty heartbeat sits just under his palm, with the rise and fall of her breathing.

“This is - I’m -“

“I know,” Harry nods empathetically. “I know.”

“She’s… soft,” Louis admits in a nervous bubble of laughter, “I don’t know why that’s surprising to me.”

“It’s that delicious diet of worms and ferrets, it does wonders for her coat.”

“I’ll have to try that, sometime. Thanks for the tip-off.”

“You don’t really need to, your hair’s nice enough.”

A flutter moves through in his stomach, one completely _not_ Hippogriff related, and Louis is suddenly very aware of the warmth of Harry’s palm, which is still resting atop his own hand as they stroke Glorywing - together. Harry’s rose-bitten lip is between his teeth again as he stares at Louis.

Harry follows Louis’ line of sight to their joint hands and pulls his back, his mouth quirking into a shy, half-smile.

“Well, you’ve got the hang of it now. You’ve been properly introduced.” Harry watches Louis pet Glorywing completely on his own, the unfamiliar warmth of pride blooming inside him. “I would even say you might… like her.”

“Don’t push it, Styles. I may pass out yet.”

“I’ve caught you once before, I’ll do it again.”

Louis’ eyes go wide at the comment, and he coughs. “Erm - now what?”

Harry scans over the wooded area around them, “Seems like the herd is further out, so we’ve probably got time to mend the fence without meeting anyone extra.”

Any sort of bravery Louis was feeling dissipates at the thought of being in the midst of more than one of the ginormous creature at a time.

“Right,” Louis nods frantically. “I think one is _more_ than enough for today. Don’t think my poor heart could handle much else.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself. You did just fine.”

“I’d rather not test that limit today, but thanks so much for the feedback.”

“Just one last thing,” Harry reaches for the sack he’d carried out, and pulls a limp-looking creature out of it - Louis looks away just as Harry tosses the thing into Glorywing’s mouth.

The fence doesn’t need much work, but there are definitely a few areas that are completely worn down. Louis lifts the rotted planks, dragging and collecting them in a pile a few feet away while Harry begins replacing them with newer ones.

“You said something about a… horror film, earlier?”

“Yes,” Louis grunts, picking up a slab of wood and dragging it with the rest. “I said I felt like we were in a horror film. It was very creepy.”

“What exactly is that?”

“A horror film, Styles. Apparently an exclusive to Muggles. It’s a film meant to scare you.”

“But… why?”

“For the same reason people ride rollercoasters, innit? People love a thrill.”

The puzzled expression doesn’t leave Harry’s face. “What are they even about?”

“You know, creepy, spooky stuff! Serial killers, or ghosts-“

“ _Ghosts_? Ghosts are friendly! I saw Nearly Headless Nick this morning. The only scary thing about him is how much he talks, really.”

Sweat slides down Harry’s temple despite the brisk air, his brow knitted together in concentration; his back muscles fluttering each time he brings the mallet down, pounding the new posts into the dirt. Louis forces himself to look away, his eyes instead landing on the ringlet of hair that’s falling over Harry’s eye, very nearly to his shoulder -

“Your hair’s getting long,” Louis thinks aloud. He wants to smack a hand over his own mouth, especially when Harry looks up with smirk and one eyebrow cocked.

“Yeah, I reckon it is,” Harry shuffles a hand through it. “More personal than usual, Tomlinson. What’s gotten into you?”

Louis rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile playing on his lips. He shrugs. “Maybe I’m feeling friendly today.”

“Lucky me.”

“ _Maybe_ it was my near-death experience just now that’s given me a new lust for life, a new attitude-“

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Harry laughs over him, “You were never near death.“ 

“That experience _changed_ _me_. I’m feeling properly generous. In fact, you can apologize now.” Louis says, suddenly, a decision he hadn’t known he’d made until the words were already out of his mouth. “I’m ready to forgive you.”

Harry stops then, staring Louis in the face, his fist still raised mid-air to beat on the wood once more. “Are you?”

“Yes.” Louis nods, smirking. “But only if you mean it. A bit of groveling goes a long way, as well.”

Louis’ smug smile drops as Harry’s hand lowers to his side, his face falling. The air changes, shifting entirely like a power switch cutting off, even the wind that whistled through the trees falling silent.

“It keeps me up at night,” Harry whispers, “I swear it does. It makes me sick if I think about it for too long.”

“Jesus,” Louis gulps, the admission making his heartbeat catch in his chest. His throat bobs. “It was a joke, I didn’t mean-“

“I don’t even know why that… that _word_ came out of my mouth. I don’t think that of you. I never have.”

“I…” Louis trails off. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” Harry replies honestly.

“Don’t I, though?” Louis rubs at his temple. “I should… Say something, and then _you_ should tell me why you hated me enough to say something like that in the first place.”

“I panicked,” Harry’s face floods with desperation. The mallet in his hand drops to the ground with a dull _thud_ , and Harry shakes his head. “I swear to Merlin, I just panicked. I don’t hate you.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit. You don’t say something like that to someone you _don’t_ hate.”

“I know it was fucked up, but I didn’t see another way out. You just- you were grilling me about that night, and I didn’t-“

“That night.” Louis interrupts, his stomach suddenly feeling like a shaken up can of soda. “Are ever we going to talk about that?”

Harry’s mouth opens, and he takes his bottom lip between his teeth. The air is thick with electricity, and Louis shifts under Harry’s intense gaze.

It’s odd, Louis thinks, to be this close to Harry - he takes a moment to study Harry’s face, from the brown-ish flecks in his emerald eyes, to the curved set of his jaw, the wavy wisps of chocolate brown hair that are tucked behind his ear. His skin, milky and smooth; Louis wants to reach out and touch it. His eyes flick back to Harry’s at the thought, and he wonders how long he’s been staring.

“Harry.”

“Louis, I —“

“Ye’ve mended the fence!” A voice shouts happily from behind them, and Louis nearly jumps out of his skin. He takes three, large steps away from Harry, bashfully shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Hagrid,” Harry squeaks, seeming equally as surprised, a hue of pink spreading across his face. “Thought you wouldn’t be back till later!”

“Figured you’d want to get a look at ‘er before tomorrow, get some one-on-one time before class,” Hagrid announces cheerfully. “She’s a real beauty.”

“Hagrid, I’ll come up in a minu-“

“That’s great timing, ‘cause I’ve got to go,” Louis blurts, and both Harry and Hagrid turn to face him with expressions Louis can’t place. He feels the blaze of Harry’s eyes on him, and avoids contact. “I’ve got — erm, I’ve got to go. Lots of um, homework. So.”

He begins to head up the hill, but something reminds him he may not see Hagrid again anytime soon, and he turns right back.

“Hagrid! Thank you. For for this week,” Louis says, and Hagrid lets out a belly laugh.

“Yer thankin’ me for detention?”

 _Idiot._ Louis refrains from slapping a hand to his forehead.

“No - well, erm, yes. I, just…” _Come on Tomlinson, get it together._ “I learned a lot this week, so. Um. Thank you.”

With that, Louis darts away without a second look, Harry and his jackrabbiting heart left behind in a haze.

“Seems like a nice enough lad,” Hagrid notes, stepping forward to give Glorywing a stroke, the creature nuzzling into his giant palm. “What’s got you gettin’ into fights with him?”

“Stupid stuff,” Harry mumbles, collecting his tools from the dirt. “Always find myself in the middle of the stupid stuff. ’S my own fault, though.”

Hagrid ruffles the top of Harry’s head affectionately, and Harry squirms out of it. “Ah, nobody’s got it all figured out.”

“Is it too much to ask to have _some_ of it figured out?”

“Comes with time, I reckon,” Hagrid chuckles. “You know what you need ’t know as ya need it. Not a moment sooner.”

“I guess,” Harry shrugs. “Thanks, by the way, for pulling that favor with McGonagall.”

Hagrid gives Harry a look from the corner of his eye, a sly cheekiness entering his tone. “Any reason ’n particular you wanted me to ask her to make you lads serve detention out here with me?”

Harry’s blushes furiously. “You could always use extra hands out here, Hagrid.”

Hagrid says nothing, simply giving Harry a disbelieving look, and Harry should’ve known better than to try and lie to the man.

Harry sighs, looking up — he can just barely see the pointy spires of the castle over the tops of the trees. They cut sharp shapes into the sky, jagged turrets dark against the clouds.

“We’re always at each other’s necks, in there. Thought a week out here would — I dunno. Make things better. Always helps me, at least.”

“D’ya think it did? Helped ya?”

For a split second, Harry can clearly imagine Louis relaxed smile, each curve and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes - and he feels something warm unfurl in his belly. Hope, maybe - as foreign a feeling as it was to him.

“Yeah,” Harry nods. An undeniable smile fights its way to his face. “It definitely did something."

•◈•

By the time the day draws to a close, Louis is thoroughly and completely _obliterated_. The kind of tired that ran bone-deep, his eyes drooping with the weight of the past few days. He’d run practice on double-time every day this week, trying to get in as many drills as he could before the sun was fully set.

Louis trudged back to the Slytherin Common Room, already feeling the burn in his thighs that would undoubtedly be worse in the morning. He was happy when the portrait door swung open to reveal the room was mostly empty, only Elowen and Liam cozied up and chatting by the fire. 

He begins to step through the portrait before the hesitation sets in - he hadn’t spoken to or seen El since their… _less_ than ideal encounter from a few days before, but he figures the sooner they can get back to normal, the better. 

“Hey guys,” Louis drops himself onto the couch across from them, sighing deeply. “What are we talking about?” 

The pair share a look, one Louis feels on the outside of, and neither of them say anything. “Or don’t tell me.” He says, feeling slightly hurt. 

“T-there’s an Advanced Arithmancy test tomorrow, was just getting Liam’s thoughts as to what he thought would be on it.” Elowen says, tossing away the blanket that’s covering her lap. “In fact, I should probably head up to bed, get some sleep for once. Good night.” 

Her words come in a rush, and she practically scrambles up from her seat to get away. Louis instinctively reaches for her good night kiss, but it doesn’t come. 

“Alright,” Louis replies, disappointed that things were very clearly _not_ back to normal. He calls a halfhearted good night to her retreating form, watching as she takes the stairs to the girl’s dormitory. He needed to make this right before more time passed, and this wound festered inside her any longer.

When he looks back to Liam, Louis is surprised to find a deep frown set into his normally cheerful face.

“Is there anything you want to share with me?” 

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up. “I don’t know, is there?” 

“Well, you tell me,” Liam throws his hands in the air exasperatedly. “Obviously there must be _some_ reason that Elowen’s just sat with me and asked if you were _cheating on her.”_

“She - She _what?”_ Louis sputters, eyes widening. Panic rushes through his chest. Harry’s face flashes brightly in his mind, green eyes ablaze. “Why on Earth would she think _that?”_

Just as Liam opens his mouth to retort, the dungeon portrait swings wide, with three more Slytherin students passing through it.

“We’re not having this conversation here.” Liam hisses, rising from the sofa and stalking off the in the direction of their room, with Louis following behind like a child who’s about to be punished. 

Once they’re inside, Louis drops his Quidditch duffle in the corner, watching anxiously as Liam rummages through the dresser by his bed. He finally finds the object he’s looking for, and holds it out between two fingers as if the very thing offends him. 

Louis shrinks. In Liam’s grip, is a scarf with the unmistakable colours of scarlet and gold.

A Gryffindor scarf. _Harry’s_ scarf. 

“Whose is this, Louis?” Liam asks in a whisper, despite the fact that they’re the only two in the room. Accusation is heavy in his tone, and Louis feels himself getting smaller with each word. “I found it in your _bed_ the night after Niall’s party, but I was waiting for _you_ to tell me where it came from.” 

“I don’t - it’s not what you’re thinking—“ Louis stutters. 

“What _am_ I thinking?” says Liam, “Because honestly, _I_ don’t even know what I’m thinking. I have no idea what’s been going on with you lately. When would you even have time to have somebody in the room? I’m always here. I’m always with you!” 

Louis groans. “I wouldn’t have the time, because I’m not bringing anyone here. I would explain, but I - I can’t,”

“You _can’t?_ What are you on about?” Liam sputters. “Try me, Louis. The last I checked, I was still your best friend. I’m always going to believe you, I’m always on your side. When did that change?” 

Louis stops then, looking Liam squarely in the eye. This was _Liam,_ and if anyone could help him figure out this mess Louis' gotten himself in, surely it would be him. 

“That scarf belongs to Harry." 

Liam opens his mouth, but confusion draws his brows together. “It’s - what?”

“Harry. Styles.”

“Of course I know who Harry is,” Liam rolls his eyes. “What do you mean it belongs to him? Did you… Steal it? As a joke?”

"I..." Louis lets the word trail off, and Liam huffs. 

"Louis, just tell me what the hell is going on!"

Louis breathes in deep, forcing himself to launch into the story before he can decide against it - sparing no details, word-vomiting completely. 

“The most important thing is that you can’t tell Elowen,” Louis says, when he finally finishes, “I need to be the one to tell her. I just - I don’t know how.”

“What?” Liam asks, an incredulous look on his face. Louis knew he wouldn’t like this bit. “Louis, you _know_ how bad I am at —“

“It’s not a secret,” Louis interjects, hoping it will soothe Liam’s conscience, “It really isn’t meant to be a secret. I mean, I don’t _love_ the idea of anyone else knowing, but it’s not meant to be a secret from El _specifically_. Just think of it as a bit of knowledge that you need to keep to yourself. For the time being. Please?”

“ _Louis_ …” Liam says warily.

“ _Please,_ Liam _.”_

 _“_ So you’re—” Liam waves his hand in Louis’ direction, but avoiding his eyes. “You’re… Gay now?”

The word is still unfamiliar territory to Louis, and he sputters at the question. “W-who said anything about that?”

“Well, Louis, I hate to inform you that kissing lads doesn’t exactly make you straight as an arrow. Unless you weren’t on board with it, then you’ve got a different problem.”

“No, I definitely…” Louis swallows. “I kissed him back.”

“Oh my,” Liam squeaks. Louis burns with embarrassment, knowing full well his face must be twenty different shades of pink.

“I’m not _gay_ , though, not completely,” Louis looks up toward the ceiling. He doesn’t know why this conversation is making him feel so bloody _weird_ , a fresh layer of sweat pinpricking across his skin. “I still… Like girls, I think…”

“It’s possible for you to like both, you know.” Liam offers.

“Yes, I’m quite aware of that, Liam, thanks.” Louis presses his index finger into his temple. “Godric, this is awkward. How is this more awkward than it was with Niall?”

“You told _Niall_?” Liam’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head, a hand flying to his chest like he’s been shot. “You told _Niall_ before you told me?”

“I needed to tell someone, Niall just happened to be the first person I saw - Merlin, why am I explaining this to you? None of that is important. I don’t know what to _do_.”

“What do you mean?” Liam narrows his gaze. “What is there to do?”

“I thought it was some fluke thing.” Louis says, voice quiet. “I thought it would go away, or, I dunno, fade at some point…”

“ _Fuck me_ ,” Liam says, and Louis’ head shoots up — Liam _hardly_ ever cursed — “You - you _like_ him, don’t you?”

Louis physically can’t bring himself to answer, and Liam plops onto his bed in a daze.

“Oh, _Merlin’s fucking beard_. You _like_ Harry Styles.”

The lurch in Louis’ stomach rises to catch in his throat.

He hadn’t permitted the thought to enter his mind all this week, but as much as he fought it, Louis felt weak against the feeling. Like he’d been defeated by some greater power. One that made his heart race and his knees buckle. It was too much, and it shouldn’t have even been a _possibility,_ yet here he was - imagining the exact shade of emerald of Harry’s eyes and the shape of his hands.

“I didn’t know it until today,” Louis replies honestly. “I didn’t know.”

“How?” Liam whispers, the dazed look disappearing from his face, irritation overcoming his features. “How could you even - after everything he’s done?”

“He’s different,” Louis knows how ridiculous he must sound as soon as the words leave his mouth. “Out there, this week - he was _different_ , Li.”

“He’s _different_?” Liam spits back at him, his face turning redder than Louis has ever seen it. “What’s brought you to that conclusion?”

“It’s not something I can explain to you, because you weren’t _there_ — w-why are you getting so angry? _You_ were the one who encouraged me to be friendly to him in the first place.”

“ _This_ is not what I had in mind, Louis!” Liam groans, leaning his head back and glaring at the ceiling. “You had to know this is _not_ what I meant. I meant show him kindness, but that was before… everything. He doesn’t even deserve that much, now.”

“He’s apologized for that. Extensively.”

“Do you even know how poorly he must think of you to have said that? In front of half the school? He thinks _less_ than nothing of you, Louis, he thinks you’re -“

“You don’t know what he thinks of me,” Louis interrupts hotly. “You don’t know him.”

Liam says nothing. He blinks at Louis as if he’s just said the stupidest thing in the world and crosses his arms over his chest.

“What about Elowen? She really - she loves you, Louis. She was heartbroken talking to me tonight, and I sat there and assured her nothing was wrong.”

 _“_ I can’t keep going on like this, Liam, it’s too confusing - I need to sort out - my _feelings_ and shit-“

 _“_ Right, and being with Harry fucking Styles is going to help you do that?”

_“Nobody said anything about us being together!”_

_“_ You’re going to change everything.”

“ _Nothing has to change._ That’s what I’m trying to tell you, but you’re not listen-“

“El is my friend, too, you know.”

“I understand that.” Louis rubs at his temples. “I don’t want to hurt her. I’m the last person who would want to do that.”

 _“_ You’ve got a funny way of showing it.” Liam snaps.

Louis sighs. “I don’t need you to make me feel like more of a dickhead than I already do. What I need is _advice_.”

“Oh, no. No, no, no.” Liam shakes his head. “I am not getting involved any further. You’re already asking way too much of me by asking me to keep this from her.”

“Asking _too much_? You’re my best friend! What happened to the, ‘ _I’m always going to be on your side_ ,’ bullshit you were spewing five minutes ago?”

“I can’t back you on this, Lou.” Liam replies. “The guy is bad news. Always has been.”

“People can’t change?” Louis’ nails dig into his palm, his fists clenched tight by his side. He’s surprised at the flare of annoyance that’s risen in him, his sudden urge to defend Harry. “People can’t grow, be better?

“I’m not getting wrapped up in the ethics of it all! Do whatever you need to do. Just don’t make a fool of our friend in the process. You know she deserves better than that.”

Angry tears pinprick behind Louis’ eyes. “Do you think I wanted any of this go down this way, Liam?”

“Why are you saying my name like that, _Louis?”_

“Because you’re full of _shit_. I need someone in my corner right now.”

Liam stands from his place on the bed, taking two steps towards Louis.

“What do you want me to say? That I’m happy for you? Because I’m _not._ I’m also not going to lie to you, and say that this isn’t a big, bloody mess because it _is_. You’ve gotten yourself into it, and the right thing to do would be to get yourself out of it and be done, but I can’t control what you do. I won’t be forced to pick sides just because you’ve decided it’s a grand time to fuck off with Harry Styles.”

Louis blinks and his eyes grow wide, his brows arched high on his forehead.

Neither of them say anything for a long, long beat - the anger so misplaced on Liam’s face that it physically makes Louis uneasy to see it.

“Right,” Louis says finally, swallowing around the thickness in his throat. He bends down to pick up the long-forgotten scarf from the ground. “Guess I’ll just _fuck off_ , then.”

•◈•

Louis sat on the couch in the common room with Harry's scarf on his lap for an entire ten minutes - his knee bouncing with the fresh anxiety of the decision he'd made - unsure of what he was about to do.

He pulls out his wand and summons his Patronus, the familiar sight of the fox making him uneasy.

 _“_ Hi." Louis breathes, "I know this is probably going to freak you out, cause you’re new to this whole, Patronus communication thing,” Louis rolls his eyes at himself, and the way he’s essentially using the spell like an answering machine service, “But I need you to meet me in the courtyard. By Hagrid’s. Now.”

Louis bites at his lip and sends the fox away, following the silvery light of his Patronus and heading in the direction of the courtyard - ignoring the feeling that he would regret this _very_ much in the morning.

As he nears the end of the corridor, and he can spot Harry - sat against the bubbling stone fountain, soon to be frozen in the winter wind, hands folded in his lap. He’s got a burgundy sweater on, and jeans - which is slightly startling; Louis has never seen Harry in _jeans._ Louis shakes his thoughts, willing himself to focus.

Harry hops up to his feet when he sees Louis coming closer, and Louis swallows against his nerves.

“Your Patronus thing really scared the hell out of me,” is the first thing Harry says. The comment is casual - but he looks just as apprehensive to be there as Louis felt.

“Sorry about that. Here,” Louis holds out the scarf. “Thought you should have this back.”

“Oh,” Harry’s brows shoot up. “Thanks. Did you - is this why you asked me to meet you here?”

It does feel a little melodramatic, now that he’s successfully dragged Harry all the way out here, and Louis doesn’t have anything else to say. He shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Erm, yes. H-have a… Good night.” Louis mumbles, shaking his head at his own stupidity. He nods once, and spins on his heel to walk away.

“Good night,” Harry calls after him, and Louis can’t ignore the defeat that’s heavy in Harry’s words, which seem to linger in the air and follow after him with each step he takes.

Louis stops.

“Actually, no.”

Louis squeezes his eyes shut. He takes a deep breath. Steels himself against the butterflies that are stirring in his stomach.

He turns and walks back over to where Harry’s sat against the edge of the fountain once again, folding his arms over his chest, desperate to make himself look assertive. Confident.

Everything he feels the exact opposite of when Harry looks up at him, curious green eyes bright in the dim light.

“I need to know why you kissed me. I need to know if I imagined it, if you feel… _anything_ , or if I’ve gone mad and I’ve completely made all of this up,” Louis forces himself to take a bloody breath before he passes out, “Either way, I need to know right now. I might lose my mind if we keep doing… this.”

 _“_ What are we doing, Louis?” Harry asks quietly, thumbing over the fabric of the scarf in his hand. He stands up, taking a step into Louis’ space.

“I have no clue,” Louis licks his lips. His entire mouth feels like it’s gone dry. “You’re like, two different people. That terrifies me. I think I know who you are, and then you go and show me someone completely different, and I can’t tell which version of you is the real one. You’re an arsehole one minute, and a flower-picking animal lover the next.”

“I know.”

Louis blinks at him. “So, which is it?”

“I don’t know?”

“Who do you _want_ to be?”

 _“I don’t know!”_ Harry replies in a sudden burst, and Louis takes a step back. Harry sighs apologetically, turning his gaze down to his feet. “I think - they’re both me, but I’m trying - _trying_ to be better. You have to see that I’m trying.”

“I see… _something_ ,” Louis sputters, trying to ignore the hopeless look on Harry’s face because it’s quickly making him lose the ability to think straight, “I just don’t know _what_ it is. For all I know, this is just more manipulation, and you’ll make a fool of me again tomorrow.”

“I don’t know how else to apologize to you for what happened. I don’t know what else I can do to fix it. I can’t go back in time and make it not happen, as much as I wish I fucking could.”

“What do you even want from me?” Louis holds Harry’s gaze, despite the feeling that Harry’s eyes are burning a hole into his head. “You hate me one day, and then you’re - _kissing me,_ how the fuck am I meant to react?”

“There’s something about you,” Harry says shakily, blowing a sigh from his lips. “I can’t explain it.”

“No. Not good enough. You can’t just say vaguely nice shit to me and expect everything to be different. I need more than that.”

“I shouldn’t have… _kissed_ you,” The word tumbles messily from Harry’s mouth, like it pains him to say it. It catches Louis by surprise to hear him say it aloud. “I-I’m sorry for that.”

“You shouldn’t have because you didn’t want to?” Louis’ eyebrow quirks up. “Or because you weren’t prepared for dealing with what would come after it?”

“I… don’t know.”

“Well, you have to know _something_ , Styles!” Louis laughs, the sound bubbling bitterly in the air. “I’m giving you an out. I’m giving you a chance to tell me what the fuck has been going on, no strings attached. I won’t keep dancing around you for the rest of term, it’ll be painful for us both.”

They keep each other’s stare for a beat, Harry breaking it to rub at his face, fingers tugging through the curls at the front of his head. “This is scary shit, Tomlinson. I’ve never had to deal with something like this before. I’m confused. You can’t expect me to have all the answers.”

“ _You’re_ scared?” Louis blinks. “You’re confused? I’ve got a _girlfriend_ and I’m running around kissing lads! Lads, who up until that moment, supposedly hate me-“

“I already told you, I never hated you-"

“Who then go and publicly humiliate me in front of half the school the very next day, and want me to act like nothing ever happened?”

“It was fucked, I know-“

“So, do tell, what exactly possessed you to do it?”

“Bloody fucking hell, Tomlinson!” Harry explodes. “Why does anyone kiss anyone? _I wanted to._ Is that what you want to hear? _I don’t. know. why._ That doesn’t open some fucking floodgate of information for you, because _I don’t know_ why. You were there, and I wanted to, so I did."

“Oh, I couldn’t tell from the seven years of you being an absolute _tit_ towards me that you actually wanted to give me a quick snog. Silly me.”

“If you’re going to tell everyone about this, just get it over with,” Harry’s face is defeated. “Just get it over with and I’ll deal with it.”

“I wouldn’t do something like that and you know it. I don’t get off on public humiliation.”

“How many more times can I say I’m _sorry_ about that-”

“Besides, it’s not like anyone would believe me. You’ve made it common knowledge that you despise me, everybody would think I’ve lost my goddamn mind.”

“Stop!” Harry shouts. “Just _stop!_ Every fucking day for _years_ I have had to watch you be the exact fucking person my father _wishes_ I was, the son he’ll never have because I am _never going to be_ what he wants. No matter how hard I try. Shit seems to fall right into your lap. You have friends everywhere. Real, _loyal_ fucking friends who are willing to _literally_ fight for you. Do you know how lucky you are to have that? Do you know how _rare_ that is? I can’t remember the last time I wanted to fight for _myself_.”

“Styles, I -“

“No,” Harry stops him. “Nobody expects shit from you. You get to just be here and be a normal kid and _exist._ I’ve been a disappointment from the start, and I have been jealous of you from the moment we met, Louis - but I never, ever hated you. I swear to you, I never did. I hated _myself_.”

Harry goes quiet, trembling in the moonlight. The night air seems to have completely stilled around them, like his words have sucked all the oxygen from the space between their bodies. Louis feels the thorny ache of pity, heavy on his chest as a tear rolls down Harry’s cheek.

“I never meant to make you feel that way,” Louis finally breathes out after a long beat. “I’m - I’m sorry.”

Harry laughs sullenly, rolling his eyes. “Why are you apologizing?”

“That’s typically what you do when you’ve done something to make someone feel poorly. You apologize.”

“Don’t you get it?” Harry wipes at his face with his sleeve. “It’s not your fault. It’s never been your fault. I’m exactly what you said I am. A bully.”

“You’re not, though!“ Louis blurts out. “I saw you this week _._ You have to stop painting yourself as some kind of a - a _monster_. People are allowed to mess up. It’s the only way you can grow, and move on."

“You make me want to be better,” Harry admits softly, his voice hardly more than a wisp of air. Trembling hands form fists by his side. “You’re kind - you always have been. Even when I didn’t deserve it.”

“Is that what you want?” Louis asks, uncertain how he’s even forming sentences after a confession like that - his entire body is vibrating. “To be… good?”

“I’m not a good person,” Harry utters, sounding ill. “I don’t think I can be, not like that. I’ve tried.“

“You have to choose,” Louis blinks rapidly, “I can’t - it’s not my job to make you into a better person, as much as I’m glad that I make you… feel that way. _You_ have to _choose_ to be good, every day.”

“I’m not a good person,” Harry repeats.

“I wish you’d stop villianizing yourself. You made a mistake, it doesn’t mean you’re an awful human being-“

“I’m just like him,” Harry murmurs, shaking his head. “I am going to grow up and be exactly like him.”

Before Louis can ask what he means, Harry puts up a hand to stop him.

“Thank you. For bringing me the scarf. I’m… I’m sorry for everything. I’ll ask McGonagall to switch me out of Potions, and we won’t have to do this anymore. Honestly, Tomlinson, I’m just… I’m sorry.”

Louis blanches, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. “What? Where are you going - I’m not done talking about this, Styles-”

“I am. I’m done. With all of this.”

He turns his back to Louis, beginning to walk away before Louis cries out a very loud and impulsive,

_“Harry!”_

All of Louis’s senses are heightened when Harry turns and faces him, eyes wide, a high frequency ringing in his ears as he closes the distance between them.

When he reaches Harry, Louis tugs hard on the front of his jumper with both fists, bringing him in and pushing their mouths together.

It takes a moment for Harry’s shock to fade away, his lips twitching cautiously under Louis’ and rigid body falling lax against him - but it vanishes, fervor taking its place, completely and totally overwhelming Louis.

Heat swirls in his belly as Louis pulls Harry in closer, pressing a hand to the small of his back; Harry brings both hands up to cradle Louis’ face, his thumb stroking tenderly at his jawline, their heads moving together as he deepens the kiss.

Louis is hardly remembering to _breathe,_ but all he can think is _Harry_ , all he can smell and feel and taste is _Harry_ , and _Merlin_ , his heart is hammering so violently in his chest he thinks he might actually be having a heart attack, but he doesn’t give a _fuck._

Louis carefully slides his hands, shaky fingers finding their way to Harry’s waist, giving Louis something sturdy to hold onto. He hopes Harry can’t feel his trembling when he squeezes tighter, digging into the skin of his hips.

Harry is the first to pull away, a sigh that held the weight of years shuddering from his lips as they draw apart. Harry touches his forehead to Louis’, breath heavy, his eyes still shut tight - like he’s afraid of what he’ll see when he opens them.

“Why did you do that? _”_ Harry asks, voice ragged. Louis can feel the solid and rapid thud of Harry’s heart under his shirt.

“ _Why does anyone kiss anyon_ e, Styles?” Louis whispers, chuckling lowly at his own breathlessness. He grips Harry’s hips harder, and peers up at him, blue eyes bright in the night. “I wanted to.”

•◈•


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A lion does not have to prove it’s a threat. You already know what the lion is capable of.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, again!
> 
> Writing this chapter, and this fic in general has been some of the most therapeutic moments for me during this weird weird time, so thank you all for making it worth it. I live for your kudos/comments, they put the biggest smile on my face.
> 
> As always, thanks to my Lyss for being my best cheerleader/editor and kicking my ass to write. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! xx

•◈•

Beads of sweat sting Harry’s eyes as he dodges another Bludger, ducking himself mere milliseconds before the ball sails over his right shoulder. He can’t reach up to wipe the moisture away, so he blinks furiously against the salty burn, shaking curls away from his face.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Harry curses to himself, the words vanishing in the rush of wind. 

A Ravenclaw Chaser flanks slightly below him to his left, and two more swiftly rise in front of him.

Harry clutches the Quaffle under his arm a little tighter, shifting his weight towards the front of his broom, urging it further, faster. 

Through his peripheral Harry searches for either one of his Chasers, but they’re nowhere to be found - he’s still twenty meters away from the nearest goalpost, but it won’t mean a thing if he can’t shake these Ravenclaws on his arse. 

_When the fuck did the Ravenclaws get so good?_

Harry dives down, angling his broom towards the wooden spaces between the spectator’s stands and the pitch - weaving in and around the planks; it’s a move he doesn’t usually pull, but he’s desperate, and it’s the only way to gain some distance without his teammates.

Harry hopes that Sloane or Kinnick will meet him on the other side and be available to pass to, but as he emerges near the Ravenclaw’s end of the pitch, he still finds himself alone - he’s got no choice but to try and make the play by himself.

It’s a long shot, but Harry jerks his broom up and to the right, rearing his arm back to aim – and just as he suspected, the Ravenclaw girl underneath him reaches up and smacks the Quaffle from his grip, and Harry watches in horror as it plummets to the ground. 

_“Gryffindor captain Harry Styles loses possessions of the Quaffle!”_

Harry grits his teeth at the pointless announcement, anger flaring in his chest as the crowd roars at the words.

Fucking _underdogs_ always got the most support. 

Pulling his broom around to face the opposite direction, Harry finally catches sight of his _supposed_ best Chaser, Sloane, who had been painfully absent for the past three minutes; which was apparently long enough to turn the tides of the game against their favour. 

_“Where the fuck have you been?!”_ Harry shouts as she lines up next to him, the pair of them trailing hot on the Ravenclaw who took the Quaffle.

“Took a Bludger to the leg!” She yells back. Harry notices now she’s got her fingers gripped tightly around her thigh, still flying steady with one hand. Harry’s taken many Bludgers to various part of his body, more than he can count, and is in awe that it hadn’t caused her to fracture a bone. Or maybe it had, and she was downplaying it- either way, he was impressed.

Harry spots the familiar brown sphere whizzing toward him, and twists out of the way of the Bludger; he comes right-side up and nods at Sloane, who’s thankfully still flying at his side.

The player ahead of them turns over his shoulder, and Harry catches his eye – and the wink the bloke throws at him! Well, if that isn’t bloody _cheeky_ — 

They fly forward, again, way too close to the Gryffindor’s goalposts for Harry’s liking – but he’s close enough to the player in front of him that just a few seconds longer, and he could reach forward and take the Quaffle back — 

That is, until the player curls the Quaffle over his head, the ball zipping centimeters past Harry’s outstretched hand, and directly into the arms of a Ravenclaw girl directly behind him. 

_“Ravenclaw Captain Eric Coates performs a stunning underhand, overhead pass to Alisa Evanora! Bloody brilliant, that was! A move of that caliber requires flawless technique, but they’ve clearly mastered it!”_

The Ravenclaw girl glides under-wind, looping around and batting the ball with the end of her broom; the Gryffindor Keeper lunges out in vain, the Quaffle brushing just beyond his fingertips, flying past him and into the circular goal. 

_“Fourth-year Alisa Evanora completes the fantastic play and scores! Ten more points to Ravenclaw!”_

Harry winces. In the first thirty minutes of the match, the score had been a tight 40-60, with a Gryffindor lead. However, for reasons Harry did not know, it seemed as though his team had completely disconnected themselves, not communicating, and _really_ not being there when Harry needed them.

This match was their last, and it was supposed to be an easy win. After their defeat with the Slytherins, Harry didn’t much like the idea of losing his last Quidditch match, as captain, as a student — 

“ _With those ten points, Ravenclaw takes the lead, with a score of 90-60! Incredible!”_

A score of 90-60, with a bloody _Ravenclaw lead._ They had managed to score five times before Gryffindor could score _once._ Harry is breathing hard from exertion, hair whipping wildly in his face. A reminder that he really should probably get a haircut soon— 

_Fucking focus, Styles!_

Harry tilts his head back, sucking a deep breath in through his nose to regain control. He feels wildly unprepared, and it was his mistake for underestimating their opponent. He hadn’t gone over basics drills as many times during practice yesterday, because he had a ridiculous fucking headache from the week’s events, and he figured the match would be easy enough. 

Gryffindor’s Keeper, Elliot, balances himself on his broom again, and his shoulders slump visibly as he shoots a look of remorse in Harry’s direction. 

_Don’t be sorry. I’m the one who's let you down,_ Harry thinks to himself, as he turns his broom to prepare for the next play. 

_“Gryffindor regains control of the Quaffle!"_

Across the field, Harry catches sight of his last Chaser, Kinnick, with the Quaffle in his grasp. Harry presses forward to meet him halfway, signaling with a nod for Sloane to follow; together they weave in and around the towers and spectator stands, flanking diagonally in front and behind him, forming a shield. 

At just the right moment, a Bludger speeds towards the head of Ravenclaw’s Keeper, and she swerves ever so slightly to avoid its path - leaving the perfect opening for Kinnick to send the Quaffle soaring through the goal. 

_“Kinnick McCreary scores! Ten points are awarded to Gryffindor!”_

Harry grins, circling back around Kinnick and Sloane; catching their hands in a high five as they pass.

“Well fucking _done_ , McCreary!” 

•◈•

“When did the Ravenclaws get so good?” Louis shouts, a poor attempt at being louder than the stands around him. Niall only adds to it, cheering to his left.

“Fuck if I know, but I’m not questioning it. Ravenclaws _destroying_ Gryffindors, that’s what I like to see!” Niall cups two hands around his mouth and yells at the top of his lungs.

“Coates must be relentless during practice,” Louis comments. “Last term they could hardly get a goal in, now look at them.”

“Doesn’t help that Styles is practically out there playing alone toady,” Niall shakes his head. “They’re fucking around up there!”

Louis’ head whips back and forth as he watches Harry single-handedly cross the pitch with the Quaffle under his arm, _twice,_ nearing the goalposts and being stopped short because his teammates are non-existent.

 _“Where the hell are your Chasers, Styles?”_ Louis mumbles under his breath, the comment lost under the sound of the roaring spectators around him.

It’s beginning to get painful, watching as Harry regains control of the Quaffle that had just been smacked from his grip, weaving in and around the stands by himself, only to be flanked by all three Ravenclaw Chasers and lose it all over again.

As much as Louis loved to be on his broom, soaring around the pitch, he loved watching the Quidditch matches just as much. It was also a welcome distraction from his mind.

A few sections away, Louis can just barely see three of his best friends - his heart clenches at the sight. Liam’s got one arm lazily thrown over Zayn’s shoulder, with Zayn saying something in El’s ear that brings her to laugh, all their smiles wide and genuine. Louis truly can’t recall if there was ever a Quidditch match in the past seven years when they weren’t all squished together in the same row, and he _hates_ that it’s happening now.

Louis checks back in with Niall, whose gaze is locked firmly across the field at the box where his girlfriend Lenora is enthusiastically announcing play-by-plays of the match. The blatant longing in his eyes nearly makes Louis laugh out loud.

“You know, you could’ve sat with Lenora, today.” Louis says casually, but he knows that if Niall hadn’t agreed to sit with him, he probably wouldn’t have come at all.

He was grateful when the boy didn’t ask any questions, or make any comments about how odd it was that he wasn’t sitting with Liam and the others - he simply showed up outside of the Slytherin dungeons that morning, waiting for Louis with a smile.

“Shut up,” Niall elbows Louis playfully in the ribs, rolling his eyes. “Just wish I could’ve seen her face for this one. Watching Harry Styles get his arse handed to him by Ravenclaws is a fuckin’ treat.”

Louis opens his mouth to reply, but doesn’t find the words right away — at his hesitation, Niall turns his head, and catches the reluctance on Louis’s face.

“Lou, I didn’t think. Shouldn’t have said all that.”

“Oh, Merlin, don’t you fucking start.” Louis laughs nervously. “You have no reason to censor yourself around me, Nialler.”

“Right, but, isn’t that — well, your _man?”_

Louis’s eyes go wide. He looks around to see if anyone’s heard him. “ _Niall_.”

“I knew that wasn’t right,” The way Niall’s brows pinch together, and his face melts into something stressed and confused, almost makes Louis want to laugh. “Shit, Lou. You’ll have to spell it out for me, you know, about what to call it. I’m officially out of my limits. I’m guessin’, here.”

It seems comical that in that particular moment, Harry soars directly in front of Louis, with both his Chasers finally flanked by his side. It’s a relief, really, and Louis can’t wrap his mind around the absurdity of it all — this time last year, Louis would have been agreeing with Niall wholeheartedly; seeing the Gryffindors get crushed by the Ravenclaws _was_ a treat.

Instead, Louis finds himself holding his breath as the three Gryffindor players approach the goal, his face splitting into a growing smile when Harry tosses the Quaffle, and his other Chaser swats it into the Ravenclaw post.

Lenora’s voice sounds so sweet over the stadium as she announces, _“Ten points to Gryffindor!”_

 _“Yes!”_ Louis cheers, and claps a quick hand over his mouth as soon as the word is out. His heart pounds in his throat, stomach sinking — but everyone else around him seems completely oblivious, either clapping politely or jeering just as enthusiastically.

He looks to his left, already anticipating the look on Niall’s face; the Hufflepuff is biting on his lip, suppressing a wide, wide grin - and failing.

“Oh, shit,” Niall laughs. He shakes his head. “You’re in deep, fucker.”

“I am not,” Louis immediately retaliates, but he knows in his heart that it’s not true at all.

He can’t explain a minute, hell, even a _second_ of everything that’s happened between he and Harry, but ‘being in deep’ might be a pretty good summation of it.

Niall keeps that same look of smug disbelief on his face, wiggling his eyebrows twice, a suggestive smirk playing on his lips.

“Right.”

“Shut up.”

Raising his hands in defense, Niall shrugs. “Like I said, just tell me what to call it, and I will.”

“It’s nothi—“ Louis stops short as Harry loops around to their side of the pitch again, a happy smile on his face; Louis can see the dimples flexed in his cheeks on full display, and it makes something in his stomach go funny.

Louis closes his mouth. It’s not nothing. It’s so much of something, it actually makes Louis ache from top to toe. If he’s honest with himself, Louis doesn’t think he’s ever been so certain about a _feeling_ in his life, even though it’s not a whole lot more than that.

A feeling. An instinct in his gut that even though everything feels like it’s on fire right now, Harry is _good._ He has faith that Harry is exactly who Louis thinks he is — but he knows that will sound just as stupid out loud as it does in his head.

“I’m still trying to figure out what to call it, too.” Louis says distractedly, his eyes still stuck on Harry. “I guess when I come up with a name for it, I’ll let you know.”

“Seems complicated.” Niall’s face changes as he senses the switch in Louis’s mood.

“It is,” Louis agrees with a nod. “But it isn’t.”

“How’s that?”

“Because I — I have faith. I look at him and I just -“ Louis shrugs, and shakes his head. He knows he isn’t making any sense. “I don’t know. I have faith.”

This time when Louis looks over, he doesn’t find the smugness on Niall’s face. Something soft is there instead, something understanding and sympathetic.

“Well, now you’ve gone and made me feel like shit for taking the piss.”

“No, please take the piss. I need _some_ things around here to stay the same.” He glances over to Elowen, Liam, and Zayn again. He drops his gaze. “I need you to stay the same.”

“Hey,” Niall takes a hold of Louis by the shoulder, shaking him gently. “They’ll come around.”

“I hope so.” Louis sighs, the breath heavy — it turns into a wide-mouthed yawn, and Niall stares at him with an eyebrow cocked.

“How on Earth are you yawning at a Quidditch match right now? Who the hell are you?”

Louis rubs at his eyes, chuckling. “I didn’t get much sleep last night."

“Oh _.”_ Niall replies. He pauses, then his eyes widen. “ _Oh.”_

“It wasn’t like that,” Louis laughs, and a flicker of warmth stirs to life in his belly.

Because maybe it was like that. A little.

•◈•

_“Styles—“_

_“Hmm?” Harry hummed lowly._

_“We have to go to sleep eventuall-“ The words died on Louis’ tongue as Harry went in for another kiss, sweetly pecking his lips once, twice, three times before allowing Louis to finish, “-Eventually.”_

_“Don’t want to,” Harry murmured against Louis’s mouth. “Do we have to?”_

_Though Harry’s voice was dropped low to whisper the words, his question comes out genuine - sweet, curious. Louis felt much the same, the heat in his belly sending jitters all the way through his body. It zips through his toes and back out his fingertips, shooting out like an electric current._

_“I’m going to refer to my previous statement of ‘eventually.’” Louis replied, hoping he didn’t sound as breathless as he felt, “We’d be stupid to be caught out here this late.”_

_Pressed up against the wall, Louis could only imagine what the pair of them must look like - all frazzled hair, flushed cheeks, and red, kiss-bitten lips._

_Harry’s lips._

_The idea was still strange to him, that Louis was the one who’d made Harry look this way._

_Louis twined his arms around Harry’s neck, fingers finding their way to the soft curls on the back of his neck. It felt exactly the way he imagined it would — the silky ringlets caught just a little on his fingertips, then slid through when he tugged a bit harder._

_“Why do we always find ourselves on the run in the middle of the night?” Harry nosed the side of Louis’s cheek. “I never used to do this. I was a model student, before you.”_

_The warm breath on Louis’ face made Louis shiver. He chuckled. “I must have been the negative influence, then.”_

_“I’m not complaining,” Harry’s eyes crinkled. “Don’t fancy another week of detention with me?”_

_Louis shrugged. “Wasn’t so bad, honestly.”_

_“Somehow I agree.” Harry sighed. “We should go.”_

_“Ah, back to your roots of responsibility.” Louis nodded. “But you’re right. You’ve got an early start in the morning.”_

_“I do?” Harry inquired._

_Louis blinked, unsure if Harry was kidding or not. He tilted his head._

_“…Tomorrow’s match?” Louis offered after a beat, and realization spread across Harry’s features._

_“The match,” Harry hissed, smacking at his forehead. “The bloody fucking match.”_

_“Honestly, Styles.”_

_“I can’t believe I forgot the match—”_

_“And you have the gall to call yourself captain.”_

_“I’ve been distracted.”_

_“I bet,” Louis replied smugly. Harry grinned again, leaning down and pressing his lips to Louis’, the kiss slightly awkward around their growing smiles, but he didn’t mind one bit._

_Pushing gently on Harry’s chest, Louis pulled his face away. “You have to stop. We’ll be out here another hour if you keep doing that.”_

_“We’ve been out here that long?” Harry tipped his head back, peeking up at the stars. They seem to have gotten brighter, their light joining with the moon to cast a dim glow over the courtyard._

_“I’m not sure,” Louis admitted. “Could be longer.”_

_“What do we do now?” Harry asked, reaching forward for Louis’ hand._

_“Go back to our rooms and sleep?”_

_Harry only looked at Louis with an amused smile._

_“Oh,” The word lingered. “You mean about… This.”_

_This. Harry chuckled at the simple word. This, this thing that was making him feel a little more alive with each passing second, a little further from the person he thought he was, and closer to the person he wanted to be._

_“Right.”_

_“We could try being… friends,” Louis offered lamely._

_“Friends.” Harry deadpanned._

_“Friends!” Louis exclaimed, Harry’s dubious expression brining a laugh out of him. “That - that was mostly a joke, but honestly, everything good starts in friendship.”_

_“Do we have friendship?” Harry asks._

_Looking down to their joint fingers, Louis’s heart did a backflip in his chest. It’s a sight he’d have to get used to, his hand being the smaller one - Harry’s enveloped his completely, his thumb stroking over Louis’s knuckles._

_“We have something,” Louis said decidedly after a few thoughtful moments._

_It occurred to Louis right in that moment that the ‘something’ he had with Elowen was… over._

_Incredibly, irrevocably, and irreversibly over._

_Along with that, also came the small realization that it very well may have been over in his heart before his brain had the chance to catch up with it all._

_Louis expected sadness to rush in and steal all his joy in one fell swoop, accompanied by regret, perhaps - but instead, it was guilt that wrapped him whole. The worst part of it all, was the fact that his guilt had nothing to do with Elowen - it was because in that moment, Louis couldn’t imagine caring about anything other than the feeling of Harry’s hand on his._

_“Why do you seem unhappy about that?” Harry cocked his head, curls falling to one side._

_“I…” Louis dropped his gaze. “I just have some things I need to take care of, before…”_

_“Before what?”_

_“Is this a real thing for you?” Louis asked, the words effectively shattering the happy, contented bubble they’d been floating in._

_“It’s as real as anything—” Harry said, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, “Anything I’ve ever experienced.”_

_Louis’ posture dropped as he visibly melted. “I - I get that, and believe me, I’m glad you feel that way.” Louis thought carefully on his next words, “This is just…”_

_“Intense?” Harry offered._

_“Yes,” Louis nodded. “It’s… intense, and very quick, and I’ve still got… a girlfriend.”_

_Harry’s shoulders tensed at the word. “Fuck.”_

_“Exactly,” Louis agreed with a hefty sigh. “Fuck.”_

_“What are you going to do?”_

_“I need to sleep,” Louis admitted, laughing at the absurdity of it all, his mind teetering at the brink of delirium from the seemingly endless day. “A lot has happened this week. A lot has happened_ today _, and I just need to sleep, and we’ll figure it out in the morning. That is, if Liam hasn’t tossed my bed and belongings into the hallway.”_

_Harry’s brow furrowed deep. “Why would he have done that?”_

_“Oh,” Louis’ cheeks went pink, “He may have been the one to find your scarf—“_

_“He knows?” Harry interrupted, “Did you tell him?”_

_“To be fair, I think he knew before I told him.” Louis replied. “Which is odd, considering I didn’t even know until I told him.”_

_This brought Harry pause, and Louis scanned his face for what he might’ve been thinking; as always, his stony expression was unreadable._

_“It’s just - I’m not sure if I’m ready to, um, tell… people.” The words spilled from his mouth awkwardly._

_Louis’s rounded lips made a perfect O shape as he nodded, disappointment clouding his face. “A-Alright.”_

_“That was the wrong thing to say,” Harry said quickly, “I can tell by your face that that was the wrong thing to say.”_

_“No, I just -I wasn’t expecting you to say that, is all.” Louis recovered, Harry’s face falling. "Not that I necessarily expected any of this, obviously."_

_“A lot of people here know my parents,” Harry explained. “It’s a small world. Word travels fast.”_

_“Ah,” Louis hadn’t even thought of telling his family. What would he say? His mum loved Elowen… He shook the thought away. “You don’t have to explain yourself. It’s important that you’re comfortable. This is going to be… An adjustment for everybody.”_

_The concern etched across Harry’s face slowly disappeared, a small smile taking its place as his hands tightened around Louis’s waist._

_“So, Payne… He’s upset with you about this?”_

_Louis exhaled a weighted laugh. “That would be an understatement, but yes.”_

_“Which part?”_

_“He’s not particularly thrilled by any of it, to be quite honest.”_

_“Is it because—“_

_“It’s complicated,” Louis tucked a loose curl behind Harry’s ear. A gesture that felt so foreign and new, but familiar all the same. “He’s just worried about me.”_

_“Because of me?”_

_“You can’t blame him.”_

_“I know, I just-“ Harry took a step out of Louis embrace for the first time since he stepped into it. “I don’t like the idea of him getting angry with you because of me. Haven’t you been friends since first year?”_

_“You should probably get used to the idea of people not being thrilled with this. If and when they do find out,” Louis quickly tacked the last bit on. “I have… an inkling we may get shit for it.”_

_“You think?” Harry’s brows shot up, as if he hadn’t considered this._

_“Yes, Styles,” Louis laughed. “No one is going to understand it, it doesn’t make any sense. People don’t like what they don’t understand.”_

_“It doesn’t have to make sense to anyone but us.” Harry replied firmly. “And do you think you could work on calling me Harry?”_

_“Not a chance.”_

_Harry grinned, his dimples flexing in his cheeks._

_“We should probably just take it slow, honestly,” Louis exhaled, “Just until we can figure out what in the hell we’re doing.”_

_“Take it slow?” Harry clarified, wrapping his arms around Louis’ middle._

_“Slow,” Louis repeated, his gaze stuck entirely on Harry’s candy-coloured swollen lips as they came nearer to his face. “Just…For now…”_

_“I can do slow,” Harry whispered, moving his mouth at the very last second to press a languid kiss to Louis’ cheek, just at the corner of his mouth. “Slow is good. Slow is just fine.”_

_A chill ran down Louis’s spine, bumps racing across his skin and raising the hair on his arms. He shivered, and Harry tightened his grip._

_“Cold?” He asked._

_“Sure,” Louis laughed breathlessly. “Something like that.”_

_“Haven’t we talked about you coming outside with no coat? I’m having deja-vu.”_

_In his rush out the door, Louis had forgotten a coat - again. He laughed loudly._

_“I’m a forgetful one, I am.”_

_“Hold on to this, then,” Harry tugged on one end of the crimson scarf that hung lazily around his neck, and wraps it snugly around Louis’. “Seems like you need it more than I do.”_

_“You need to practice the art of subtlety,” Louis thumbed the fabric of the scarf, “It’s not going to be very difficult for anyone to piece together where I suddenly start getting random Gryffindor swag.”_

_Harry blinked at Louis in the moonlight, his brows drawing in slightly._

_“Why are you looking at me like that?” Louis asked._

_“...Swag?”_

_“Oh, Jesus,” Louis chuckled. “You’ve got a lot to learn.”_

•◈•

Back in the locker room, Harry unwraps his leather gloves, carelessly tossing them onto the bench as his team quietly shuffles around; undressing and hanging their Quidditch robes, some of them for the last time.

Defeat falls on their shoulders like a dead weight, pressing down on them all, and Harry feels personally responsible for its arrival.

The match was one of the hardest Harry had ever played. The Gryffindors finally were coming back after being slapped around by the Ravenclaws for half an hour, pushing back against the lead they’d gained, when that _stupid_ Hufflepuff’s shrill voice rang out over the pitch.

 _“Rendall Smeaton has caught the Golden Snitch! One hundred and fifty points are awarded to Ravenclaw! Ravenclaw_ _wins_ _!”_

It wasn’t Harry’s favorite moment.

The whole way out, their Seeker attempted to offer Harry a stuttered apology, but Harry simply waved him off, unable to bring himself to give a fuck, really.

The tension only grows thicker as they pack their gear away, and though no one is speaking, Harry knows what they’re all thinking.

The silence is bordering on unbearable; he wishes someone would just say it — that they’d gotten their arses handed to them.

Harry walks to the corner where the captain’s locker sits, just around the wall that divides the room. He stands before the empty space, and places his broom back on the hook.

It looks incredibly stupid hanging there, in nearly new condition — signs of a poor season, really. Not a single scratch on his Thunderbolt VII, which his father had gifted to him for his birthday last year, after he found out that Harry’s Firebolt wasn’t the fastest model on the market. It was unacceptable to him, for Harry to have something second-rate.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do with it after his time at Hogwarts ends, considering he’ll never have a use for it ever again. It’ll simply sit here, collecting dust in the locker room until Harry goes home for Christmas, where he’ll shove it into the deepest part of his closet and forget it all happened.

“That was rubbish.” Harry finally hears Kinnick shatter the quiet from across the room, and it’s like someone has taken a needle to a balloon. Harry holds his breath.

“ _Kinnick_.” Sloane hisses discreetly before he starts up again.

“What? I haven’t told a lie _.”_ Kinnick mutters. “Last game of term and it was over before it even started. All I’m saying is that it was fucking _rubbish_. We only took the Hufflepuffs the entire bloody season? It’s pathetic.”

Harry winces at the words, each one stabbing him in the chest. The pain rooted itself in the truth; they barely put up a fight against the Slytherins, and the Ravenclaws properly handed their arses to them on a platter.

Harry thinks of how nice it would be if the ground would open up, right this very second, and swallow him whole.

Maybe he did prefer the silence.

“It happens,” Sloane’s whispers, her tone hushed. Harry knows it’s only to spare his feelings. He wonders what she would say if he wasn’t on the other side of the wall. “T-This wouldn’t be any fun if we didn’t have a challenge, and this season was challenging. That’s the whole point, mate.”

“Bollocks,” Kinnick’s reply is immediate, sour. “This won’t happen next season, not when I’m captain.”

“They won't pick a nob like you for captain,” Harry hears his Beater, Thomas, answer matter-of-factly. “I won’t be letting you have that so easily.”

“Oh, right,” Kinnick snorts. “As if _you’re_ my competition.”

The team’s answering laugh is enough to ease the tension, lifting just enough for everyone to begin the debate as to who will take Harry’s position next term.

It stings, knowing they won’t even remotely miss him — half the team cried last term, when Freya was leaving Hogwarts after three solid terms as Captain.

Harry actually liked her very much, and was more than a little surprised when she stuck her neck out to make him the top choice for captain. Granted, he’d worked his arse off for years, but he always thought he’d be anyone’s last choice.

“Do you want me to wait for you?” Sloane’s soft voice comes up behind Harry, the gentle hand on his shoulder jerking him back to reality.

“Oh, erm,” Harry says, without looking up. Tension curls his shoulders forward. “It’s fine. I’ll settle up in here, and erm, catch up with you lot later.”

A small smile passes on her face, one that Harry knows to be pity, and she squeezes the hand that’s resting on his shoulder before shuffling out with the rest of them.

As the last of his team leave, Harry moves around the room, checking in where everybody’s broom is hung, each individual locker sending a pang through his chest. His last game. This was his last game of Quidditch, and he’d totally shit the bed.

Finally Harry shrugs his own robes down his arms, the silver _C_ of his captains’s badge reflecting in the light as he strings a hanger through it, and places it in the wooden locker. Above the indented space, in golden lettering, reads ‘ _Captain.’_

He’s never felt less deserving of the title.

Harry blinks, reading the word over and over and over, until it doesn’t even look like a word anymore, until it’s beaten into his brain and —

Suddenly, a wisp of silvery air zips through the back wall of his locker, and zooms directly in front his face.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Harry jumps backwards, while the magical creature takes off and trots a few times around his head, before settling in front of him.

 _“I know you’re alone, and I’ll bet you’re sulking. Come outside.”_ It announces in Louis’ lilting voice before running back through the wall.

A few moments pass of Harry’s heart thrumming steadily in his throat. He swallows, and takes a deep breath through his nose.

“Godric,” Harry mumbles as he pulls his elbow pads off. “Never gonna get used to that.” He quickly strips out of the rest of his uniform, shoving himself into jeans and a plain maroon jumper.

Shouldering his bag, Harry pauses in the doorway. He takes one last look at the room before shaking his head, leaving the bitterness behind him.

Harry steps out into the sunlight, scanning the area for anyone nearby, when a noise comes from behind the building.

“ _Pssssst!_ ”

Turning at the sound, Harry finds Louis, peeking his head from around the walls of the locker room. Louis waves him over, and Harry checks twice for anyone who may be lingering before stepping around the building.

“Hi.” Louis says softly, his mouth twitching with a shy smile. The deep green beanie he’s wearing keeps his hair back, fringe swept prettily across his forehead. Harry wants to kiss him.

 _Don’t._ Harry thinks. _Don’t scare him off._

Unsure of what to do with his hands, Harry shoves them into his pockets, effectively anchoring him. He rolls back and forth on his heels.

“Hey.”

They stand there, neither saying anything for a long moment, smiling sheepishly at the ground like absolute morons.

“How’d you know I was alone?” Harry finally says, meeting the blue of Louis’ eyes.

“I saw everyone leave, and I kept waiting,” Louis shrugs one shoulder. “You never came.”

Harry nods. “I was thinking.”

“You were sulking.”

Harry ignores his comment. “I see you remembered your coat, today.”

“I did,” Louis smiles. “I… I may have had something underneath for a bit of good luck,” A hint of smugness creeps onto Louis’ face as he begins to unbutton his coat, which was fastened all the way to his neck — to reveal Harry’s scarf tucked tightly underneath it. “Never thought I’d find myself secretly rooting for the Gryffindors. No offense.”

_Kiss him._

Harry blinks.

The sight of his old scarf hidden beneath Louis’ coat sends a thousand beams of pure sunlight straight into Harry’s chest, but he doesn’t let it show.

Instead, he pushes out a casual laugh, stepping forward and taking both ends of the scarf into each hand.

“Could’ve given you my entire wardrobe, it wouldn’t have mattered. Still wouldn’t have been enough luck to keep us from getting our arses kicked.”

“I think you played well,” Louis’ lips purse into a half-pout. “Really well. You guys had them in the last few minutes, there. You were circling back.”

“That’s a load of shit. Kinnick and Sloane were completely off-kilter today.”

“I noticed,” Louis admits. “What was all that about? You were totally alone for a few minutes, it was awful to watch. I almost wanted to hop on a broom and get out there, just so you had someone to pass to.”

“Reckon they’re mad,” Harry pushes his hair back from his face, long as it’s ever been, stray curls resting on his cheeks. “Don’t think Kinnick will be speaking to me for the rest of term.”

“He’ll get over it,” Louis insists with a roll of his eyes. Vibrant, beautiful blue in the morning light.

Dropping the ends of the scarf, Harry moves a step closer to slip his hands inside Louis’ open jacket, cradling the space above his hips; fingers wrapping around far enough to touch the small of his back.

“That’s easy for you to say. Your team worships you.”

Louis scoffs. “They do not _worshi_ —“

Harry leans his head forward at just the right moment to catch Louis’ open mouth in a kiss, wind whipping around them as Harry brings Louis flush against his body.

The sensible part of Harry’s mind screams for him to let Louis go, that he’s coming on far too strong, reminding him of the futile promise to take it slow; until Louis wraps both his arms around Harry’s middle and pulls himself impossibly closer, and all rational though flies out of Harry’s brain like a Bludger on the pitch.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get accustomed to the feeling of Louis’ body beneath his hands, of the relentless, yet still gentle pressure of his lips.

Harry moves his palms to cradle either side of Louis’s face, Louis blinking up at him as he moves away. “They do, and it’s with good reason. Shut up and accept the compliment, Tomlinson.”

“Hell of a way to get your point across,” Louis chuckles casually, but the growing rosiness in his cheeks gives him away. The sight of it gives Harry a surge of pride to have been the one to cause it. “But you’re a good captain, too. You have reason to be proud.”

 _“Was,”_ Harry corrects. He slides his hands down Louis’s arms to entangle their fingers. “I was a good captain. Season’s over for us, now.”

There’s a pause. Louis’s brows pinch together slightly.

 _“_ Oh.” Louis’s eyes flick towards the stadium, and back to Harry. “Shit. I hadn’t even thought of that — I can’t believe it’s going to be over so soon. We’ve only got two matches for the rest of term and then it’s all over.”

“Thank fucking Merlin,” Harry sighs. “Don’t think I could’ve done it any longer, really.”

Louis’ face scrunches. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I just mean that, erm,” Harry bites onto his bottom lip, mentally scrambling for the right words. “Quidditch was never—”He shakes his head. “Fuck’s sake, I don’t think I’ve ever said this out loud before.”

Louis tilts his head, “You can tell me.”

Glancing back at the place he’d spent so many hours in — a place where he’s had some of his best memories, and made a fair amount of friends, Harry’s thoughts feel like a betrayal. He should be more grateful for the experiences, for the better times, but he doesn’t. All he feels is overwhelming _relief_.

“I never wanted to play Quidditch,” Harry blurts out. “It was always my dad’s thing.”

“Alright.” If the confession takes Louis by surprise, he doesn’t show it.

“Back in first year, after the whole… Not being a Slytherin thing, he was just…” Harry shakes away the grim feeling that’s suddenly looming over his head. “I wrote a letter to my mum, y’know, to tell her I’d been sorted Gryffindor. She wrote me back telling me that she was proud, and all that… But he never did. He never wrote, or sent anything - it wasn’t until Christmas of that year that I spoke to him for the first time since he’d dropped me off at King’s Cross.”

Louis frowns.

“I thought if I started doing stuff he was into,” Harry shrugs, “Like Quidditch, that maybe he’d be less angry at me.”

“He had no right to be _angry_ for what you were sorted into. That’s ridiculous.”

“I suppose to you it would be, but I knew it was going to be that way. I listened to him ramble about his time here my entire life, knew he’d be disappointed that I wasn’t going to be just like him. I hoped this would be the thing, to like, bring us together. I dunno. S’that stupid? This is stupid-“

“It’s not stupid,” Louis replies over him, reassuring him with a quick squeeze of his fingers. “It’s the furthest thing from stupid.”

The sincerity in Louis’s gaze is enough to make Harry feel warm all over. He turns his eyes to the ground.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I’ve just said all that,” Harry laughs, nerves bubbling out of him. He shakes his head. “What I mean to say is, you won’t find me crying about Quidditch being over. It’s - it’s more of a relief, actually.”

“You don’t have to apologize for talking, talking is part of friendship.” Louis gently reminds him, though his tone is teasing. It doesn’t help the pinking in Harry’s face. “In fact, it’s a pivotal part of friendship, I’d say. Very important.”

“It’s important to listen to me ramble on about what a twat my father is?”

“Of course,” Louis replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Harry looks at Louis then, really looks at him — slightly in awe that he has the luxury of _time_ to drink in each of his features; brilliant blue eyes, almost clear in the sunlight, accompanied by the sweet crinkles in the corners. The breeze kicks through the front of his hair, blowing it back slightly, and Harry’s breath catches. It’s like he’s seeing the boy for the first time, rediscovering a face he’s known for years.

“You look different,” Harry says, the words tumbling stupidly out of his mouth before he can stop them.

Louis looks down at himself, shuffling from one foot to the other.

“Do I?”

 _Stupid_ , Harry thinks. _Stupid, stupid._

“No,” Harry replies, too quickly. Louis arches one disbelieving brow in response.

“Well, sort of,” Harry backtracks, another choked-out nervous laugh escaping him, “Yes. I’m not sure why.”

“Relax, you look like I’m going to shoot you for saying something _nice_ ,” Louis replies. His head tilts as his eyes scan over Harry’s face. “You… You look different too. Or maybe you don’t. Maybe I’m just looking at you differently.”

 _“_ Yeah? _”_ Harry says, “What are you looking at me like now?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Suddenly they’re back to examining at each other with timid smiles, the air between them charged with an electric, giddy energy that makes Harry’s heart stutter in his chest.

“Is this weird?” Harry asks, finally. “I feel like this should be weird.”

Louis’s eyes flicker with amusement. “What should be weird?”

“This,” His fingers tighten their grip on Louis’s hands to emphasize the word, “ _This_ should be weird, right?”

“I suppose it should be, shouldn’t it?” Louis laughs lightly, “I keep thinking the same thing. I keep waiting for it to get weird.”

Harry exhales, “So it isn’t? For you?”

“No,” Louis shrugs, “I know you.”

“You don’t know me like this,” Harry says pointedly.

“I think… I think this the _only_ way I know you.” Louis replies quietly. “That person you were before all this — I never understood why we didn’t get on. When you’re like this, you’re….” Louis trails off, struggling to piece his thoughts together. “When _we’re_ like this, it makes more sense to me."

"It’s different.”

"That's for fucking sure," Louis agrees. "I-I'm not going to pretend like I have any idea of what this is going to be like, but I'm willing to find out if you are."

When Louis looks up again, Harry’s mouth is pressed in a tight smile, the curve of his mouth displaying his dimples. Louis snorts, and puts his face in his hands. He peeks through his fingers.

“Oh, _fuck me,_ that was all properly cheesy, wasn’t it.”

Harry shrugs one shoulder, the smile remaining. “I didn’t mind.”

“Don’t hold that against me,” Louis says. “That was a slip up. Won’t happen again.”

“Understood.”

“My point is,” Louis shakes his head, “That I’m not going to question it, and neither should you. I like you, and that should be enough. Questions can come later.”

The words send an unexpected jolt of exhilaration up the back of Harry’s neck, and his smile falters. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“What you just said. Just then.”

“That questions can come later?”

“Not that, you just said —“ Harry licks his lips, which tremble stupidly as he says, “You said that you — that you—“

“That I like you?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, voice full of awe. His eyes go wide, the green hue practically sparkling in the light. “You’ve never said that, is all.”

“What—“ Louis cocks his head, and after a beat, bursts into laughter. “Was that something you were confused about?”

“I-I don’t find myself in this situation very often,” Harry defends lamely, his posture wilting as Louis’ laughter continues. His brow furrows. “I didn’t want to make any assumptions.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Louis replies, forcing a serious expression onto his face. “New territory. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed.” Harry looks at Louis expectantly, waiting for another round of giggles, but it doesn’t come. Instead, sincerity washes over his features. “I do, though. _Like you._ I apologize if that was unclear, I thought I was being obvious.”

“I probably could’ve assumed that much. I may be overthinking all of this,” Harry sighs defeatedly, quietly adding, “I don’t want to mess it up.”

“You won’t,” Louis whispers. He brings one hand up to palm Harry’s cheek, smiling a perfect half smile Harry knows he’ll dream about later. “Don’t worry. We can let it be simple, for now.”

Harry nods, leaning into the radiating warmth of Louis’s touch. He can do that much.

•◈•

“I’d like five hundred words on the topic by next class,” Professor Nicander wraps her lecture with a wave of her hands, and Zayn breathes out a sigh of relief. “Class is all dismissed.”

“Godric, I’m starving,” Zayn tells Liam offhandedly as they pack their books up. It’s only their second class of the day, and Zayn can already feel stirring in his stomach. “I cannot _wait_ for lunch. I hate days like today, they make everything go by that much slower.”

Towards the back of the room, Louis is also packing his belongings into his bag, and Zayn stands waiting for them both to head to their Transfiguration class together — that is, until Liam pushes past Zayn and grumbles a low;

“Let’s go.”

Zayn whips his head, confused to see Liam’s back as he strides out of the classroom. He turns around to check with Louis, who doesn’t seem nearly as bewildered as Zayn is; he shrugs one shoulder sadly and waves Zayn forward.

With one more glance between Louis and the classroom door, Zayn decides to follow after Liam.

Trotting slightly down the hall to catch up to him, Zayn comes up on his left side and loops his fingers through Liam’s. He squeezes twice.

“Um,” Zayn begins casually, “What’s happening with you and Lou?”

“Nothing is happening with Louis and I.” Liam replies immediately.

“I just find it strange that we’re ignoring him.”

“We’re not ignoring Louis.”

“Alright,” Zayn looks over his shoulder. The top of Louis’ head is barely visible over the bodies of bustling students in the hallway as he walks alone. “Except for the fact that we absolutely are.”

“We aren’t ignoring him.” Liam insists. The rare little scrunch between his brows pops up, and Zayn feels worry stir in his belly. “I would just prefer not to speak to him, at the moment.”

Zayn’s eyebrows shoot up. It’s not at all like Liam to play the cold shoulder game, not in the slightest. “Does this have anything to do with why he didn’t sit with us at the match?”

“I'm not sure why he didn’t sit with us. I’m not his keeper.”

“Did you ask him about it? I thought El would’ve mentioned if anything was wrong, but she seemed—“

“I really don’t want to talk about it,” Liam snaps, the severity of his tone sending Zayn reeling.

“Whoa, hey, alright,” Zayn yanks his hand free from Liam’s, stopping dead in his tracks on the side of the busy walkway. “I didn’t realize it was a tender subject. You’ve got no reason to be upset with _me_.”

“I’m not, I’m sorry.” Liam sighs apologetically, grabbing Zayn’s hand and bringing it to his lips to press a kiss on the back of it. “I’m so — _Merlin_ , I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s - it’s a long story, but I can’t talk about it.”

“You’re really wound up about this,” Zayn searches Liam’s face. “What’s going on?”

“I told you, I really can’t —“ Liam’s trails off and his eyes suddenly narrow to two slits, his gaze going past Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn feels Liam’s hand tug out from his as he steps out of his embrace, his shoulders pulling back and chest puffing forward. “Have you got something to say, prick?”

Up the corridor a few feet away, Harry Styles turns at the sound of Liam’s booming voice. He stops.

“Pardon?” Harry asks, his eyes flicking back and forth to the students around them. He points a finger to the center of his chest. “Are you talking to me?”

“Yes _you_ , you idiot.” Liam seethes. “You were taking an awfully long look at us, I figured you might have something to say.”

“ _Liam_ ,” Zayn’s mouth falls open. His eyes are blown wide, gaze bouncing between the two boys. “What in the hell — what is _wrong_ with you _—”_

“I haven’t got anything to say to you.” Harry replies evenly, his expression carved from stone as he looks past Liam. The indifference only seems to feed Liam’s fire, and he closes the distance until he’s practically stood underneath Harry’s nose.

“You sure about that, now?” Liam retorts.

Harry’s nostrils flare for fraction of a second, his chest rising and falling once before he breathes out his response. “I’m not doing this, Payne.” Each word comes out carefully, quietly. “I won’t fight with you.”

“I bet you won’t,” Liam replies darkly, “Wouldn’t want a black eye to match that broken nose, then.”

The words wash over Zayn’s whole body like a bucket of ice water, and he takes a step back from the pair of them. He didn’t care much for violence at all, but at the very least Zayn understood when Liam had seized an opportunity to defend his best friend. This, however, was something else entirely; unjustified and unprovoked.

 _“Liam!”_ Louis’s voice breaks through the group of students then, and he appears, sidestepping to stand between Harry and Liam’s body. His eyes are wild as he stands with his back to Harry, his hands held in the air in defense. “Just stop it! _Enough_.”

Behind him, Harry takes one last long look, before silently stepping away, and heading down the corridor.

 _“Fucking prick!”_ Liam shouts to Harry’s retreating form, and Zayn’s eyes feel like they may fall out of his head at what he’s just seen, his head face shaking minutely from side to side.

“What the _fuck,_ Liam?” Louis questions, which echo Zayn’s thoughts precisely, and the crowd of students fade away with disappointment that another Payne-Styles showdown hadn’t come to fruition. “You are just — you’re bloody _unbelievable,_ you know that?”

 _“Me?”_ Liam sputters. “I’m unbelievable?”

“Yes,” Louis grits back. “You are.”

“Really? Because you’re the one who’s—“

“I’m what, Liam?” Louis interrupts, his face taking a bright shade of red. “Go ahead, say it out loud, right here in front of everyone. That’ll teach me, yeah?”

Liam’s mouth presses into a tight, grim line at that. Shoving into Liam’s shoulder as he passes, Louis storms into their classroom.

“W-What in the fuck was _that?_ ” Zayn asks, horror plastered onto his face. Liam’s breathing falls uneven, his face shifted into to a permanent scowl, with his fists balled tightly by his side. “Liam, honestly, what the _hell_ has gotten into you — where the fuck are you _going? Liam!”_

•◈•

Zayn keeps a brisk pace as he walks towards the library, robes fanning out behind him with each step.

It was difficult, no — _impossible_ to sit through his past three classes without knowing what in world was happening with Liam. For the entirety of their Transfiguration class, Zayn’s focus kept dropping so he could check the open door again, hoping to see Liam had returned to his senses and come to class _._ Each minute that passed only made Zayn more uneasy, his nerves eating away at him until the class had ended and he had no choice but to attend the next one; and hope Liam was alright.

When Zayn arrived at the Great Hall for lunch and found Liam’s seat to be empty, his heart sank deep in his chest.

Across the room, Zayn could spot Niall chatting with his girlfriend and the other Hufflepuffs, and Elowen in the opposite direction sat with a pair of her Ravenclaws friends; Louis, however, was sitting in their usual spot, meekly poking at his plate, head propped up on his chin.

“What in the hell is going on?” Zayn whispered to himself. The thought of his friends scattered, his boyfriend missing, and feeling completely in the dark as to _why_ any of it was happening, was sending Zayn over the edge. Surely it couldn’t be something so serious as to warrant all of this —

Louis was a dejected and pitiful sight, the poor lad, wearing his emotions all over his face per usual. Zayn’s instinct was to go him, and maybe even get to the root of it all, but he knew he needed to find Liam. He wouldn’t be able to get through his last classes of the day without making sure he was alright, it would drive him mad.

“Zayn, hello!” Madam Pince greets Zayn as he strides through the library's double doors, looking over her rounded glasses at him. “Why aren’t you at lunch, darling?”

The instant comfort Zayn feels at the sight of the sweet librarian is enough to calm his racing heart, even if only for a moment. Her warm smile shatters the stream of ten thousand panic-induced thoughts running wild in his mind, and he takes a split second to catch his breath, pushing his hair back from his face.

“Good afternoon, Madam Pince,” Zayn breathes. “I was just — I’m looking for Liam. Is he here?”

It doesn’t help Zayn’s nerves when Madam Pince’s face shifts, and he recognizes the concern that overcomes her features. Setting down her book, she leans forward to whisper, “He came in a few hours ago, mad as a wet hen. Hasn’t spoken a peep.”

“Merlin’s beard,” Panic shoots through to Zayn’s core. A few _hours?_ That meant Liam had skipped more than one class, which was - well, so completely _unlike_ Liam, that Zayn didn’t know what to think. His brain felt like it was short-circuiting. “Is he - is he in our usual spot?”

When the librarian nods, Zayn immediately takes off in the opposite direction, giving her a rushed thank you over his shoulder.

Zipping through the dusty stacks, Zayn skids to a halt as he nearly misses their typical study area by the window. It sends a jab through his gut to see Liam’s back turned to him, hunched over the desk.

In the reflection of the glass, Liam’s head rests between both hands as he stares out the window blankly.

Zayn doesn’t know why his anxiety has suddenly morphed into fear, because never in a million years could he ever be _afraid_ of Liam, but he feels too scared to open his mouth, and cut through the silence Liam so clearly desired.

“Liam?”

Carefully, Zayn pulls the adjacent chair out from under the table, taking a hesitant seat next to his boyfriend. They gaze at the wind rushing through the trees just outside, the dead leaves piling up in all shades of golden yellows and deep browns.

Typically students were too lazy to walk that deep into the stacks, and because of that fact, they had claim to the best study spot in the whole of the library. It was in front of the only window with a decent view, overlooking the wide expanse of the grounds, the colors shifting with each season. For as many years as he’d been at Hogwarts, Zayn had yet to find a place he liked more.

It also happened to be Liam’s preferred location for when he needed to think.

“Liam, I —“ Zayn starts, but two words in and he already feels his throat getting tighter. He swallows. “I told Professor Margraves you were feeling ill, and you weren’t in class because you’d gone to the Infirmary.”

There’s no response from Liam, no movement, not even a _blink_ to signal that he’s heard Zayn. He presses on.

“I-I’m sure you want to be alone right now, but it’s lunchtime, and I was just coming to see if you were going to come to the Great Hall - you really should eat something, Li. You barely touched your breakfast.”

For all the times Zayn had ever seen Liam ‘angry,’ _(all of which he could count on one hand,)_ this was by far the worst. Zayn was used to being the person Liam ranted to, not the person he ignored. He wasn’t accustomed to this red-faced, cold-shouldered Liam, who wouldn’t even look in his direction or acknowledge that he existed.

The unexpected prick of tears stinging behind Zayn’s eyes takes him by surprise. “Honestly love, for whatever I did, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you so hard this morning, I only wanted to help—“

“I’m not upset with you.” A hand snakes over to Zayn’s thigh, squeezing once before it disappears again. It’s not much, but it makes Zayn’s heavy heart feel a little lighter, and he takes it as a sign to scoot his chair an inch closer.

“You skipped class,” Zayn says on a whisper. “I’ve never - you’ve never - you skipped _class,_ Liam.”

“I know.”

“It’s clear that you don’t want to talk about it,” Zayn continues, “I just want you to know that whatever is making you do things like have a pissing match with Harry Styles in the hall and skip _class_ is probably worth sharing.”

Liam doesn’t move an inch to say, “Did I look mad?”

“Completely,” Zayn blurts. “You looked completely, and utterly mad. A few moments away from foaming at the mouth.”

“Oh, Godric,” Liam groans. His arms collapse onto the table, his head falling between them. “Everyone’s going to think I’ve gone mad. I cannot believe I did that.”

“Well, you know, I really wouldn’t worry too much about it,” Zayn backtracks quickly, his hand smoothing circles tenderly across Liam’s back. He leans forward and presses a kiss to the shell of his ear. “Odds are, they were too distracted by the possibility of seeing you punch him out again. Excited, even.”

“Perfect,” Liam raises his head, looking pathetically in Zayn’s direction. “That’s just perfect. I’m not mad, just full of rage and punch-happy.”

“Maybe a bit.”

“I —“ Liam’s mouth opens, but closes almost immediately. Zayn patiently waits for him to say more. “I shouldn’t have skipped class. I just - I couldn’t imagine sitting in the same room as Louis right now —“

“Baby,” Zayn’s head cocks to one side, reaching for Liam’s hand resting on the table. “You can talk to me. If you want to, of course. It won’t leave this library, you know that.”

Liam takes his lower lip between his teeth, worrying the skin there. Zayn nods gently, urging him on, eager to share whatever secret is looming over his head — to take even an ounce of the weight of his shoulders.

“It’s Louis.”

“I’ve gathered.” Zayn teases lightly, hoping his easy smile will help bring the truth out of Liam. When he only looks at Zayn with the same distressed frown, he squeezes Liam’s hand three times. “Go on, then, it’s alright.”

It seems to work, bringing Liam back down to Earth for a moment. He closes his eyes, and blows out a heavy sigh. “He’s… He’s cheated on Elowen.”

Zayn’s jaw drops. He doesn’t know what he had expected Liam to say, but it wasn’t _that_. “ _What?_ ”

“I know.”

“Fucking hell,” Zayn breathes, sitting back fully against his chair. This day continued to keep Zayn questioning everything he thought he knew _._ “Why would he - Why would he ever do that?”

“Haven’t got the slightest clue.”

“Bloody fucking — _Merlin_. You’ve got every right to be mad at him, Li, but that doesn’t explain why you’re messing with Harry Styles for no good reason.”

Liam rolls his head to the side to meet Zayn’s eye. He gives Zayn an exhausted look, speaking entirely in their language of glances.

A beat passes.

Then another.

Zayn holds Liam’s unwavering stare and tilts his head in question, until finally, he realizes what Liam is suggesting. His eyebrows shoot into his hairline, and his mouth falls open once again.

“You’re not possibly saying that— that he and—“ Zayn swallows, needing to say their names; just to make sure he isn’t completely insane for thinking the wrong thing. “That _Louis_ and _Har—_ ”

“I am.”

Zayn blinks. _“No.”_

“Yes.”

“ _No fucking way.”_

“Yes.” Liam repeats. The word comes out mangled, like it’s paining him to say it out loud.

A rush of confusion sweeps through Zayn, his thoughts running a million miles a minute to put the pieces of new information together. The short-circuiting feeling in his brain returns.

“Wh-wha—Since _when?”_

“Dunno,” Liam says. “I didn’t care enough to ask.”

“Well I’ll be goddamned.” Zayn whispers. “Godric — And you’re _sure_ about this?”

“He told me himself.” Liam’s reply comes as a half grumble, and the events of the day are beginning to make more sense.

“So Louis... is… is he _with_ Harry Styles?” The words are so strange coming out of Zayn’s mouth, as is the accompanying mental picture. At least it would be, if he could imagine such a thing. “Or was it just a one-off?”

“Apparently he’s gay, now.“ Liam scoffs, his eyes rolling dramatically.

“That isn’t fair.” Zayn quips instantly. “You shouldn’t say it like that.”

Liam processes this, and is slow to ask, “Like what?”

“As if that’s not exactly the way it happened to _you_.”

Liam narrows his gaze. “What do you mean?”

“You said, ‘he’s gay now,’ as if he had any control over how or when he came to that realization. You and I both know that’s not how it works."

“But - it’s different—“

“How? How is it any different?”

“Me falling in love with _you_ ,” Liam takes Zayn’s hand, “Made sense _._ You’re kind. Lovely. Smart. We were _friends_.”

“And?”

“ _And_?” Liam repeats, his brow creasing deep. “Harry Styles has always been bloody horrible, especially to Louis!”

Zayn’s face is a picture of disappointment. “Obviously I’m not a huge fan of his… _choice_ , but Louis deserves to be with whoever he wants, even if it doesn’t make sense to us.”

There’s a pause then, one that goes on a touch too long before Liam speaks again. “Are you taking _his_ side?”

“Since when is this about sides?” Zayn asks, “I didn’t realize there were sides to take. As far as I’m concerned, our friend is probably very confused right now and needs us, and you’re acting like a tit about it.”

“What about Elowen?” Liam asks, heat rising to his face, “Are we meant to just abandon her?”

“ _We_ don’t do anything about Elowen,” Zayn replies calmly. “It’s not really our business, it it? At the very most, we - we can _support_ both of them. Besides, El is way more capable than you’re giving her credit for. She doesn’t need someone to mind her, she’ll be perfectly fine.”

“It’s _my_ doing that they’re together. My fault. I practically pushed it on them last term, and now she’s going to end up looking like a fool.”

“It’s not the end of the world, Liam. She’ll be hurt for a bit, yeah —but I think she’s smart enough to realize that having Louis as a friend is more important than hating him forever over this.”

“She talked about, like, the _future_ the other night.” Liam admits sullenly. “Going on about how she doesn’t want to lose him. About _marrying_ Louis one day.”

Zayn shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I hate to say it, love, but I think that’s more her problem. Might’ve been a bit naive with those expectations.”

“How?”

“Well, it’s sort of like a bubble here, innit?” Zayn waves all around them. “This place. It’s not like every relationship she has here will make it outside these doors. They don’t always last.”

At his words, Liam’s face completely _crumples,_ his brows drawing in and eyes going wide. “You don’t think - that they last?”

“Oh, no—” Zayn softens as he realizes what he’s just said, at the heartache splayed all over Liam’s face. “ _Baby_ , of course that isn’t what I meant at all, you know that—“

“Do I? Do I know that?”

“Of course you do,” Zayn nods quickly, “You _should_ know.”

“Maybe I don’t! Maybe I don’t know you as well as well as I thought.”

“Liam—“

Liam pushes his chair back, yanking his hand free from Zayn’s. He begins to furiously stack piles of books into his arms, collecting them all hastily. He turns on his heel, leaving their area by the window to walk to the next aisle over.

“Really?” Zayn’s mouth falls open, and he rises from his chair to follow in Liam’s direction. “You’re really doing this right now?”

“Doing what?” Liam replies sharply without looking back, sliding a thick tome back to its place on the shelf. He moves quickly down the aisle, returning the books one by one.

“Come on, Liam. You honestly can’t tell that you’re projecting their issues onto us?”

“I am not.” Liam huffs. “The only thing I’m certain of, is that the Zayn _I know_ would’ve had my back about this.”

“I see,” Zayn crosses his arms over his chest. “So, I’m not allowed an opinion that’s separate to yours?”

“I never said that, not once.”

“It’s not about what you’re saying! It’s the way you’re acting, Liam.”

“Would you be upset if Louis knew I was cheating on you, and chose not to share that information?”

Zayn scoffs, and his eyes roll back. “That is an absurd situation we would never find ourselves in.”

“Would you just answer the question?”

“Fine. In that hypothetical situation, I suppose I’d prefer it come from you, so we’d actually have a chance to fix it, and move on.”

Liam’s eyes widen. “You think something like that can be fixed?”

“Of course I do, if it was a mistake and you were truly sorry — people are allowed to make mistakes!”

“Not a mistake like that, Zayn!”

Zayn opens his mouth to reply, but the words don’t come right away - he doesn't know how the conversation turned into this, spiraling beyond his control. Liam shakes his head, and begins to walk away.

"I'll speak to you later. I think I need some time alone."

"Wait, Liam," Following after him, Zayn catches his hand on the upswing. “Liam, please, none of this even matters —“

“I can’t, Zayn.” Liam says simply, pulling away from him. “I just can’t, right now. We’ll speak later.”

•◈•

The casual chatter in the classroom comes to an unsubtle halt when Harry enters his Potions class on Monday morning.

Stalking to his seat, it’s impossible for Harry _not_ to feel the tingly heat of every eye following him as he takes his place next to Louis, scuffing his stool extra loudly against the ground and sending a general sneer to the room; the message is sent, and all wandering eyes return to their own partners. The whispers, however, don’t cease.

There’s a sheet of paper lying on their shared surface with the ingredients for that day’s assignment, and Harry lifts it in front of his face.

“Hi,” He whispers, his scanning blankly across the page.

Louis’s eyes never leave the book that’s open in front of him, but his mouth quirks into a half-smile that he can’t keep away.

“You’ve drawn quite the audience,” Louis muses under his breath.

“I see that.” Harry glances over the top of his paper, then back to Louis. “What should I do?”

“Nothing,” Louis replies. He walks over to the shelf of supplies and collects a few odd tools that Harry doesn’t know the name or purpose of. After dropping them unceremoniously onto the table, Louis shrugs. “It’s only gossip. Ignore it, and it’ll go away. Eventually.”

“Gossip? About what—“

The voices that had picked up in volume die out once again as Liam walks into the room. Head held high and unwavering, he takes his place toward the front of the class without so much as a backwards glance to Louis.

“That,” Louis rolls his eyes. “I reckon it’s mostly to do with that.”

Timing the best it’s ever been, Professor Doyle shuffles into the room, and quiets the classroom with a wave of his hands.

“Good morning, students. I trust you’ve all found today’s assignment on your desks.”

For the first time since he’d picked it up, Harry actually reads the page he’s holding, and the word scrawled at the top.

“Amortentia?” Harry says aloud, a little too loudly. Louis represses a chuckle as the majority of the class turns in their stools to give him a strange glance, and Harry’s cheeks go pink.

“Very good, Mr. Styles,” Professor Doyle replies merrily, seemingly as surprised to hear Harry speak. “Can anyone tell me characteristics of the Amortentia potion?”

“It’s one of the most powerful potions in existence,” Liam says, his tone gritted and not at all like himself. Louis’s eyes flick up to where he’s seated, one brow raised. “It’s considered highly dangerous.”

“That’s correct,” Doyle nods. “And why would that be, Mr. Payne?”

“It’s considered dangerous to underestimate a powerful infatuation.” Liam replies easily.

“Interesting that you should use that word. Infatuation.”

“That’s all it is. Even as powerful as it is, Amortentia doesn’t create actual love; it’s not possible to manufacture or imitate love, only obsession. Ridiculous what some people think passes as _love_.”

Though Liam’s back is turned to Louis, he can still hear the biting edge in Liam’s tone. His message is clear as day. Louis grips his quill tighter, his eyes narrowing in vexation.

“Excellent, Mr. Payne! Anything else?”

“Its most defining characteristic is that it has a different aroma to everyone who smells it. It’ll remind them of whatever they’re most attracted to, even if they’re not totally aware of it. It can be subconscious affection.”

“Remarkable! Ten points to Slytherin!” Professor Doyle claps his hands delightedly, “With that you may all begin, I’ll be around to check your progress.”

Louis shakes his head, completely baffled by Liam’s ridiculous hostility. He centers himself with a deep breath, and moves around to the other side of the table. Striking a match, he lights a fire under the cauldron to start the water boiling. “Would you get me the powdered Moonstone?”

“Sure,” Harry replies. Louis feels him walk away, only for him to return a moment later. “I — I don’t know what that is.”

Louis snorts, “Second shelf, in the square jar.”

Harry leans slightly over Louis’s shoulder to whisper, “Listen, don’t think I’m going to start suddenly being good at any of this.”

“Don’t try and convince me that you’re not capable of learning,” Louis mutters back. He smirks. “I’ve found you out, Styles. You’re smart. In fact, you may actually be a secret nerd.”

“Watch yourself, Tomlinson. Don’t get carried away.”

Harry spends the entire class watching Louis make quick work of the potion, not helping much aside from handing him a random tool every now and again. He’d never admit it aloud, but Louis makes it look interesting. Easy, even, as he moves around the class and selects jars of liquid and glasses full of powder without question.

When Louis is nearing the end of the process, Harry begins to catch hints of something pleasant drifting in the air — but it isn’t until Louis is using a dropper to fill the vial with the shimmering pearly liquid, and holding it out to Harry that it hits him fully.

“Right then, take a whiff.”

Harry takes the small glass bottle from Louis, and holds it up to his face; he pulls in a full breath through his nose.

Louis looks on expectantly, wiping his hands on the front of his vest. “Well, do you smell anything? What does it smell like?”

Harry takes another deep breath in. The aroma is so strong it makes him a bit dizzy, but it’s pleasant. Mind-numbingly pleasant. The sensation is otherworldly, the way the smell is warming him from the inside out.

The first wave is earthy; similar to the smell of the forest around the greenhouse after it rains, or when the soil of his garden is freshly turned. Seconds later, the scent shifts into bright, overwhelming florals like all is favorite flowers blooming at once, sunflowers, daisies, poppies — 

The third smell replaces the other two completely, washing over Harry like calm, like coming home; smooth and delicate like vanilla, yet still strong and spicy. It feels familiar, bringing an indescribable comfort — but he can’t put his finger on just what it is.

“Fuck,” Harry lowers the vial from his face, the dizziness making him feel almost high.

“Yeah?” Louis smiles.

“It’s really nice. I can’t explain it.”

“I’d consider that a success,” Louis announces proudly. He steps closer to Harry to take the potion from his hand, and as he does, Harry smells it again — the heady warmth of Louis. It’s the last scent he couldn’t place.

It’s Louis.

“Oh,” Harry sputters aloud, and Louis looks up at him confusedly.

“What’s wrong?”

“Um —“ Harry shakes his head, feeling the heat of embarrassment crawl up his neck. “It’s - It’s nothing.”

Louis gives him a look of disbelief at this answer, especially considering the strangled expression Harry’s got on his face, but accepts it nonetheless. “If you say so.”

“I do.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face as he leans and takes breath to smell the concoction. A few silent moments pass, and Harry watches Louis process the different smells just as he did; the smile slowly disappears from his face, replaced by that little crease in his forehead that always popped up when he concentrates.

“W-what does it smell like to you?” Harry asks, genuinely curious to know.

Just as Louis opens his mouth to reply, the sound of the bell above them signals that class is over, and Louis sighs, chuckling out a light laugh. “Saved by the bell, then.”

“What does that mean?”

Louis laughs fully. “Don’t worry about it.” He sets the potion back onto the table, covers the cauldron with the lid, and begins tidying up their workspace. It wasn’t necessary, as usually Doyle would take care of disposing their potions correctly, but he’d recently made a habit of helping the old man after class got out. “I’ll catch you later, Styles.”

The room empties out, Liam having unsurprisingly been one of the first to gather everything and march out the door. Harry lingers near their shared desk, and Louis looks up amusedly.

“Did you—“ Louis asks, arching one eyebrow, “ _Need_ something?”

“Oh,” Harry says. “I — I guess not.”

He casually crosses to where Louis is stood, and reaches over to grab his textbook — but not without placing a firm hand to the small of Louis’s back, hidden from everyone else.

“I’ll catch you later, Lou.” Harry whispers, the warmth of his breath sending shivers all over Louis’s body.

A twinge of heat starts to bloom in Louis’s stomach, stirring violently, his skin crawling with gooseflesh, just from one whispered nickname.

Louis swallows dry as Harry walks away, forcing a smile on his face. “Yeah,” His voice drops out, and he licks his lips. “L-later.”

“Mr. Tomlinson? May I have a moment of your time?”

Professor Doyle, bless him, shatters Louis’s dumbstruck moment, as he heads to the front of the room.

Louis tries to keep his expression firm as Harry hangs in the doorway and mouths a silent, “ _Bye,”_ and he almost succeeds, until Harry follows up with a small wink — so quick Louis nearly misses it — and his heart lurches in his chest. He shakes himself, and heads up to the Professor’s desk.

“Yes, Professor?”

“I had the most peculiar meeting with our Headmaster since I saw you last,” Doyle begins. “Wherein she informed me about your… _altercation_ with Mr. Styles.”

“Right,” Louis nods, embarrassment sweeping through him. In the excitement of the week, he’d forgotten McGonagall’s comment about speaking with the Professor — though it seems like years ago. “I really meant to apologize, about all that.”

“If you’d had that much concern about your partner, you could have simply approached me. I merely asked that you try to befriend Mr. Styles, not push yourself past comfortability.”

“Oh, well, _actually—“_

“I expected to have to assign you a new partner for the rest of term,” Doyle continues with a nonchalant shrug, “However, it seems today as though you’ve been friends for years. As I mentioned, it’s all very peculiar.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Louis replies a little too quickly; Doyle looks up at him, bemused.

“Won’t it?”

“No,” Louis shakes his head. He can feel his ears growing warmer. “We’re… We’re just fine, now.”

“Hmm,” Doyle nods absently, returning to his work. He dips a feather quill pen in a pot of ink, and begins marking through the papers. “Did you take my advice, or did Mr. Payne knock a bit of sense into him? Pardon my pun, of course.”

_“Professor!”_

“It’s a simple question, really.”

“No, it’s actually -“ Louis bites onto his bottom lip. He checks the class for any lingering students, and drags a stool in front of the Professor’s desk. “Can I… Can I tell you something crazy?”

Doyle peers over his glasses. “What amount of crazy?”

“Kind of absolutely absurd.”

“Excellent,” Doyle nods. “I wouldn’t accept anything less. Carry on.”

•◈•

Later that day, after Louis spends a few hours completely obliterating his team with drills and basic maneuvers during Quidditch practice, he finds himself standing in front of the Slytherin dungeon portrait, hesitant.

It’s his common area just as much as it it’s anyone else’s - he shouldn’t be afraid; but he can hear the lilting of voices and laughter just on the other side, one voice particular standing out that he’s in no rush to meet.

Elowen.

“Just say the word, and I open.”

Louis rolls his eyes at the portrait of Abraxas Alsott, guarding the Slytherin dungeon in his grand, floor-to-ceiling frame. “I understand how the process works, thanks.”

“You’ve been standing there for so long, I thought perhaps you’d—” Twisting his largely jeweled rings around his finger, Abraxas lets out a wide-mouthed yawn, looking at Louis with bored eyes. “—Forgotten.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Louis grits out. He adjusts the straps of his bag on his shoulder. He’s still uncomfortably sticky with sweat from practice, and all he wants to do is shower and crawl in his bed, but he can’t bring himself to face El. Not yet. “You _know_ I know how to get inside.”

“I cannot permit you inside without the password _.”_

“Just give me a moment, please!” Louis groans, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m just… I’m waiting, alright?”

Abraxas sneers. “For what? An invitation?”

“What is it going to take for you to _leave me alone,_ and mind your business _-“_

“Lou?” A voice travels from down the corridor then, and Louis is relieved to spin around and to see Zayn approaching him, concern etched on his face. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, Zayn. I’m—“

“Isn’t it obvious?” Abraxas rolls his eyes, lazily spreading himself across the plush velvet of his chair, legs hanging over the side. “He hasn’t decided whether or not he’s going inside.”

“Hush,” Louis snaps over his shoulder. “No one asked you.”

“ _Clearly_.” The man flops over the front of his grand chair to stand, and brushes the folds of his robes down. “I refuse to allow you to waste a moment more of my time. Call for me when you’ve actually made a decision.”

“Waste your time - this is your literal sole _purpose_ , I — You're a painting! Where do you have to be? Hello!” Ignoring the comment, the man in the portrait simply sashays out of frame, and Louis groans, looking helplessly back at Zayn. He throws his hands down exasperatedly. “Great. Even my _portrait_ _guard_ doesn’t wanna be near me.”

"Didn't expect to find this," Zayn smiles sympathetically as Louis leans against the concrete outside of the dungeon, sliding down the wall to sit. "You're arguing with a painting, you know."

"I'm aware," Louis rubs the sides of his face with both hands. He looks up at Zayn apologetically. “Sorry, I’ve just — it’s been a long day.”

“So I’ve heard.” Zayn replies with a nod, sliding to join Louis on the ground. Louis’s brows shoot up.

“You’ve… heard.” Louis repeats slowly. “As in, you’ve _heard_ heard?”

“I’ve _heard_ heard."

“Right, I figured that would happen.” Louis sighs, and cocks his head to the left. “Then you know why I can’t go in there.”

“Not that you _can’t_ , per se,” Zayn shrugs one shoulder, “Though I agree, _choosing_ not to go in is probably in your best interest.”

Louis wraps his arms around his knees as a chill moves through the hall. “I would tell Liam you’re here for him, but he’s not currently speaking to me.”

“As a matter of fact, Liam is not speaking to me, either. Guess we’ve got that in common.”

“Shit.” Louis says, finally. He doesn't ask to confirm, but has a sinking feeling it's got everything to do with him. Godric, he's made such a mess of everything. “That’s rough, mate.”

Zayn’s shoulders slump. “You’re telling me.”

“Do you… want to talk about it?” Louis asks, and Zayn shakes his head.

“No. Not here, at least.” Zayn pushes to his feet, and extends a hand down for Louis to take, “C’mon, then. Besides, I didn’t come for Liam. I came for you."

Louis doesn’t hide his surprise. “Me?”

“Yup,” Zayn grunts as he helps Louis off the ground, “Reckon this is probably all a bit confusing, yeah? Figured you might need someone to talk to, and since Liam hasn’t been too helpful with all that, I'd just come and see if you _—“_

Zayn’s breath is knocked from his body as Louis suddenly wraps him in a crushing hug, and Zayn pats his back with a chuckle.

“Lou, I’m glad you know you roll this way now, but it’s hardly appropriate to put the moves on me while my boyfriend is just upstairs.”

“What?” Louis freezes as Zayn’s words wash over him, and takes an immediate step out of Zayn’s embrace; cheeks flushing bold red and his mouth gaping. “No —I wasn’t — _I_ _would_ _never-_ “

“Merlin, Louis.” Zayn bends down to collect Louis’s duffle bag, and hitches it over his shoulder. “It was a joke. Look like you proper bricked yourself, there.”

This doesn't ease the color in Louis's face in the slightest. “F-fuck’s sake, Zayn, that isn’t funny!”

“Too soon?”

They head for the dungeon exit together, Zayn’s laughter echoing against the stone at the embarrassment so clearly etched on Louis's face.

“Not that I care, but,” Zayn playfully slings an arm around Louis’s shoulders, and brings him in close. “Just what did you mean by, and I quote, ‘ _you_ _would never-‘“_

“Cut the shit, Malik.”

•◈•


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Because in darkness, he neither had to see the serpents disguised as angels, nor had to fake a smile at them -- even after knowing who they are."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, everyone! This update came rather quickly, which is surprising considering I just moved across the country back to New York City - it's been a hectic year, and I'm so excited to be back home.
> 
> Speaking of this year, next week will mark my one year anniversary of writing this story! ONE YEAR! I've always, always loved writing, but I've never had the motivation (or confidence, honestly,) to continue something like this for so long. I know 2020 didn't look like what anyone imagined, and I just wanted to thank you all. I'm so grateful to you all who have been reading and keeping on with this story. It truly means so much to me. 
> 
> I most likely won't have another update until the new year, so with that being said, I hope everyone stays safe during the holidays, and thank you again, for giving me a reason to keep doing something that brought me so much joy in a seemingly joyless year.
> 
> As always, your kudos/comments make my heart the biggest happy face. I hope you enjoy. xx

•◈•

_“Expecto Patronum!”_

Harry musters all the energy he can summon into the words as he thrusts his arm out, wand pointed towards the afternoon sky. His chest heaves with the motion, and the muscles in his arm ache as he attempts the spell for what feels like the hundredth time.

A few silent, empty moments pass, and the beginnings of Harry’s Patronus start to form — shapeless threads of arctic blue air sputtering together before fizzling out completely.

The failed result isn’t a surprise. Harry doesn’t say anything, simply looking over his shoulder to where Louis is sat on a fallen tree trunk, supervising. Harry drops his arms and tilts his head to the side, as if to say, _I told you so._

“Try again.” Louis coaches. He cups his hands around his mouth and breathes a warm puff of air into them, a poor attempt at keeping his fingers from freezing off — the middle of October came far sooner than Louis anticipated, bringing the bite of a fierce and relentless winter wind along with it. “You’ll get it.”

Truthfully, Louis was hoping Harry would grasp the concept of the spell sooner rather than later. His toes were starting to feel numb. They had come out to the forest behind Hagrid’s well over an hour ago, as Harry had recently insisted that Louis teach him the concept of Patronus communication.

“I’m too far away,” Harry all but whines, a lame excuse if Louis has ever heard one, “Maybe I should come closer?”

“It has nothing to do with how far away you are. C’mon, give it another go. Remember, happy thoughts.”

Harry huffs out a deep breath, and pushes his sleeves up past his forearm. He’d discarded his jumper, working up a sweat and tying it around his waist sometime around the tenth time he attempted the spell.

He glances wearily back at Louis, who gives him another patient smile and a thumbs up.

Harry holds his wand out again. He glares at it, all eleven inches of deep brown chestnut wood, almost like an extension of his own arm — his grip goes tighter, and he closes his eyes, trying to bridge the gap between his mind and the magic. Pushing his heel into the dirt, he imagines rooting himself there, like a tree; he steadies his wand.

After another centering breath, Harry opens his eyes, and flings his arm out once more.

“ _Expecto Patronum!”_

This time, the blueish sparks shoot immediately from the end of his wand, forming together to make a floppy-eared bloodhound.

Louis jumps to his feet in an instant, his face split by a wide grin.

“Bloody hell, Styles, you’ve done it!”

“Yes!” Harry pumps his fist as he cheers, though the celebration is premature; the dog begins to fall apart and vanish just as quickly as it appeared. “No, no, _no — come on!_ ”

Louis looks on affectionately as Harry’s shoulder’s slump over, the excitement leaving his face. Louis takes his place again, sat on the tree trunk. “Don’t get too down, Styles, that was progress. You’re doing well."

“This is hopeless,” Harry sighs. “We’ve been at this for an hour. It isn’t going to work.”

“Not with that attitude, it won’t.” Louis reminds gently. “It’s like with any spell. It’s all about your intent — if you’ve already convinced yourself you can’t do it, the magic won’t hold up its end of the bargain.”

“Alright, _Professor_ _Tomlinson_ , I’ll be sure to keep that in mind for next time.” Harry says sardonically, catching the way Louis’s eyes light up at the joke. Harry smirks, his eyebrows raising. “Oh, did you like that?”

“I didn’t… hate it.” Louis bites back a smile. “Stop changing the subject, Styles. You were so close that time, try it again.”

Harry drops his head back and groans. “Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Louis laughs. He rests his elbows on his knees, cradling his face between his hands. “Merlin, you’re impatient. Did you think you’d master it on the first try?”

“You make it look easy,” Harry says simply. “Besides, haven’t you been doing this since last year?”

“Fifth year, actually.” Louis is all too pleased to correct, “But that’s only because I was tired of the lack of communication between here and the Muggle world. Thought I was going to die because I couldn’t tell Liam what I’d gotten for Christmas—“

Louis’ face falls as his sentence trails off, the immediate ache in his chest spreading bitterly at the mention of Liam’s name.

Harry can sense the shift in his mood, as it’s happened fairly often over the past two weeks since Liam last spoke to Louis. It was better when Louis didn’t remember, or didn’t think about it as much, because then Harry didn’t have to look at the heartbroken expression Louis currently had on his face — it hurt Harry, knowing he was the reason for most of Louis’s problems.

Stowing his wand away, Harry crosses to the fallen tree trunk where Louis sits, and motions for him to scoot over as he takes a seat.

“Sorry,” Louis says, shaking himself out of the daze he’d been in. “Sorry, I, um. I didn’t mean to make it heavy.”

“’S alright,” Harry replies gently, knocking their knees together, “You can talk about it. Talking is part of, erm, friendship, remember?”

A small smile quirks at the edge of Louis’s lips at his own words being used against him. “Glad to know you’re actually listening to my many valuable lessons.” He shrugs one shoulder noncommittally. “I know I can talk about it, there just isn’t much to say anymore.”

“So, there haven’t been any… Developments, on that front?” Harry asks awkwardly, but he already knows the answer. He can see the answer written on Louis’s face as clear as day, in his defeated posture.

“No,” Louis confirms with a somber shake of his head. “Still the same, radio-silence shit. Last week he was gone every day before I woke up, and now he’s not even coming home. He must be speaking to Zayn again, staying over at his.”

“Zayn’s?”

“He’s Head Boy. They’ve got the old professor’s chambers in Ravenclaw Tower, and Head Boy and Head Girl get them.”

“That’s convenient.” Harry frowns. “He’s being unfair, you know.”

“I don’t blame him for it, is the thing,” Louis picks at the hem of his jumper, pulling loose threads away. “I’ve been a tit, not speaking to El for all this time.”

This is news to Harry. He assumed that Louis had already broken things off with the blonde Slytherin girl. He’s mindful to not sound too judgmental when he asks, “You haven’t told her, yet?”

“I’m still trying to figure out _how_ to say it,” Louis admits, his voice hardly above a murmur. “Can’t let this ruin our friendship. She was one of my oldest mates, before any of this. I’m waiting for the right way to explain it, is all.”

This brings Harry pause, unsure of what to say next — he’s never had any mates that were that important to him. In fact, all of his ‘closest’ friends were truly just mean-spirited morons. Which, Harry figured, probably made him one as well, by association.

“I’m sure she’ll understand,” Harry finally says, placing a hand on top of Louis’s thigh, squeezing gently. “We should get back, Hagrid’ll be wondering what we’re up to.”

They start down the trail back to Hagrid’s walking side by side, their fingers casually brushing every few steps. The feeling is unbearably exciting, and Louis’s heart jumps up in his throat when Harry surprisingly grabs onto his hand and loops their fingers together.

Louis allows himself to look down — this is how things were. They never talked about what these moments meant, the soft and tender gestures when it was just he and Harry alone.

Harry was like troubled waters that Louis didn’t even begin to know how to navigate.

After their conversation about Harry not being ready to tell anyone, Louis had a hard time figuring out where the line was, what Harry _was_ ready for. Everything was on Harry’s time, at Harry’s pace, which Louis didn’t mind in the slightest; except for instances like this.

Their joint hands swinging between them meant something much more to Louis, something bigger than he’s ever felt. But, for the sake of not shattering the moment, Louis keeps his mouth shut and forces his brain to be quiet and just _enjoy._

The dormant butterflies in Louis’s stomach are sent into a flurry as Harry’s thumb absently strokes over his skin, and for one blissful minute, Louis can pretend.

To break some of the heavy air, Louis asks, “Do you think Hagrid’ll believe us if we tell him we were practicing magic in the woods?”

Harry snorts, “Maybe, but odds are he’d think that’s a euphemism for something, like, _inappropriate,_ and I am unwilling to have that conversation to correct him.”

Louis flushes brightly at the insinuation, that it would be totally and completely plausible that he and Harry could be up to _inappropriate_ activities… And he flushes even harder when he thinks about how much he likes the idea of that possibility.

It’s disappointing to say the least as they emerge from the woods, and Harry promptly releases Louis’s hand — he tries not to linger too long on what that means for them as they walk up the few steps into Hagrid’s cabin home, scraping their muddied feet on the frayed mat in front of the door.

“‘Ello, you lot,” Tucked into his favorite arm chair positioned directly in front of the fireplace — which is where Louis and Harry found the man most of the time —Hagrid gives them his usual happy grin. “Can I make you lads a cuppa?”

“Don’t trouble yourself, Hagrid,” Louis smiles. Every day for the last two weeks, Louis found himself in the safe confines of the cottage after Quidditch practice, avoiding both the Slytherin dungeons and his own room in general. He makes himself comfortable, shrugging his woolen jumper off and hanging it on the hook by the door.

“No trouble at all!” The giant man insists, hoisting himself out of the chair with a grunt. “You must be losin’ your fingers as we speak. Let me make you somethin’ to thaw ya out.”

“That’d be lovely, thank you,” Louis concedes with a light laugh. Something fluffy nudges up against Louis’s thigh then, and he glances down to find Teddy there, blinking up at him as though she were waiting to be greeted next. “Hi, Teddy. Don’t worry, we didn’t forget about you, girl.” He bends over to rub the Kneazle between her ears, scratching lightly the way she likes it.

When he stands back up, he finds Harry’s gaze locked on him. Louis smiles, softness all over his face. “What?"

Caught, Harry shakes his head, but there’s warmth in his eyes. “Nothing.”

“Harry, I looked at those pages ya asked about,” Hagrid interrupts, lifting the kettle from the fire. “They’re on the table, and they look alright t’ me.”

“Pages?” Louis sees the mess of unorganized paper spread out on the table in the middle of the room, and moves towards them. “What for?”

“Oh, Harry’s not told ya? ‘M just checkin’ on facts fer the project he’s been workin’ on—“

“Hagrid,” Harry whispers tensely. He strides over to the table, and starts to shuffle the papers protectively into one pile. “They’re nothing. It's nothing.”

“Huh,” Louis arches one brow. “It sure doesn’t look like nothing.”

“Oh now, Harry, you should be proud of work like that!” Hagrid hobbles over, his long wooden cane tapping against the floor. He pours them both a steaming mug that Louis is far too excited for. “You’ve been workin’ on that book fer as long as I known ya. That’s real promising work, that is.”

Louis rolls his head to give Harry an expectant stare. “You’ve been writing a _book_?”

“It’s not really like, a _book_ ,” Harry explains, “It’s more like a collection of knowledge, and erm, personal experiences I’ve been putting together over the years.”

Louis crosses his arms over his chest, and sits fully against the back of his chair. “So, what’s this book about?”

“It’s not a book.”

“Not yet, it isn’t!” Hagrid chimes in, “But it will be!”

Harry rolls his eyes, but his cheeks are tinged with a healthy pinkness as he mumbles into his cup, “Hippogriffs. It’s about Hippogriffs.”

“Hippogriffs,” Louis comments casually, as though they were having a conversation about the weather. He mirrors Harry and takes a sip of his tea, smirking over the rim of his cup. “Now, why was that so hard?”

“We really don’t have to talk about this.”

“Oh, yes.” Louis deadpans, faux seriousness dripping from his tone. “We absolutely do.”

“Tell ‘im what it’s called, Harry!” Hagrid says, which earns him a flat-out glare from Harry. “Think it’s just genius, I do. I can see it on shelves already.”

Louis is almost giddy, bouncing in his seat. “Oh, Merlin’s fucking beard, please tell me what it’s called.”

“No. Now you’re taking the piss,” Harry huffs grouchily, moving to hide the papers away on a high shelf. “This is why I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Come on, I swear I’m not taking the piss. I really am curious to know,” Louis insists, which isn’t entirely a lie. The idea of Harry writing a book about _anything_ has his interest so piqued he can hardly stand it. The mental picture is adorable; Harry scrunched over a small desk with a single overhead lamp, his brow furrowed in concentration as he frantically scribbles his thoughts down. “ _Please_."

Harry falters as he turns to look at Louis over his shoulder, still cradling the papers close to his chest. “You look like you’re already laughing.”

“I’m only laughing because you’re being so bloody top-secret about it,” Louis can’t smother the giggles that keep surging up from his belly. “Promise I’m not laughing _at_ you. Go on, then, pitch us a title.”

“The thing is, it’s only a working title. It could still change, so if you think it’s rubbish, it’s your obligation to tell me.“

“Spit it out, Styles!”

“Fight or Flight, A Beginner’s Guide to Hippogriffs,” Harry blurts awkwardly, his face as red as Louis has ever seen it. “But, like I said, that can change. That’s just what I called it when I was like, twelve.”

“I don’t think you should change a thing,” Hagrid says. “Sounds proper publishable, to me, that does.”

“I like it too, Hagrid.” Louis agrees wholeheartedly, failing miserably at fighting the shit-eating grin on his face. “I think it’s perfect.”

•◈•

After they’ve said three prolonged goodbye’s to Hagrid with promises to return the next day, they start their journey walking up the weather-beaten stone steps back to school.

The late afternoon sky is one of the prettiest Louis has seen in a long while, bright pinks shifting into deeper purples and burnt orange, settling just on the horizon. The glow from it casts a gorgeous hue over Harry’s curls, some red popping through the strands and making him look like something out of a magazine, and he averts his gaze before Harry can catch him staring. Louis can’t help but bring the subject up again.

“So, why is this the first time I’m hearing about your literary genius?”

Harry groans. “You’re never going to let this go, are you?”

“Of course not,” Louis responds simply. “It sounds like you’ve made a big deal about it over the years, I’m just curious why it’s never come up before now.”

“Because for as long as I’ve been writing it, I’ve also known I can’t, you know, do anything with it.”

“Who says? You could be the next Newt Scamander,” Louis playfully bumps their shoulders together, but Harry doesn’t bite. “You could totally make a career out of it, if it’s as good as Hagrid says.”

“They’d never take me seriously at the Ministry if they knew I wrote a book about _Hippogriffs_ ,” Harry says matter-of-factly, and Louis rolls his eyes.

“Godric, not this conversation again.”

“Nothing’s changed,” Harry replies. “That’s still where I’m headed when all is said and done, so I may as well get used to it now.”

There’s a finality in Harry’s statement that Louis recognizes all too well, and he exhales an excessive sigh. “If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Well, I for one, would still like to read this book.” Louis looks up when he feels Harry stop dead in his tracks two steps below him. “What?”

“You hate Hippogriffs,” Harry states, a suspicious inflection to his tone. “Why would you want to read it?”

“I don’t hate Hippogriffs,” Louis trots down a step, so he’s slightly taller than Harry is — he’s not too proud to admit that he kind of likes it this way, with him towering over Harry for a change. “They freak me out. There’s a difference. And, it’s important to you. Besides, if it’s never going to see the light of day, you may as well have someone read it apart from Hagrid, you know? Won’t do you any harm.”

Harry regards Louis’s bouncy enthusiasm with tiredness. “You really want to read it?”

“That’s what I just said, Styles.”

“You’re going to think it’s boring.”

“Suppose that’s a conclusion for me to come to on my own, innit?”

“You don’t have to pretend for my sake—“

Louis interrupts Harry with a huff. “You know what I think?”

Harry shoves his hands in his pockets, eyes rolling back. “No, but I bet you’re going to tell me.”

“I’d wager your book is probably very good. Excellent, even. You’re just making it seem bad, so I’ll leave you alone about it, and no one will ever read it. You don’t get hurt that way.” Louis shrugs, “That way, it stays this precious, secret little thing you’ve been working on for forever, and it doesn’t disappoint anyone. Including yourself.”

A few moments of silence pass as Harry eyes him warily.

“Do you always have to do that?”

Louis blinks innocently. “Do what?”

“Analyze me so viciously. You say stuff like that, and it’s like you’ve crawled into my head and pulled thoughts straight out of my brain.”

“If I ever tell a lie, stop me.” Louis holds his hands up in mock defense, a knowing smile gracing his lips.

“Fine.”

Louis drops his arms. “Fine, what?”

“Fine,” Harry sighs, “You can read it.”

Louis lights up, “Really?”

“Maybe. I-I’ll think about it. I’d have to get all the pages together, and they’re all a bit of a mess, honestly, don’t even know if you’ll understand half of it—”

“I’d be happy to read through the mess.”

They continue walking up the stone path together, and just as they’re nearing the entrance to the school, Harry pauses, tugging on Louis’s elbow to stop him.

“Sorry, would you mind just, like… hanging back for a few minutes? In case anyone is, you know,” Harry juts his head in the direction of school, “Up in the courtyard.”

“Oh,” Louis gets his meaning, and it stings. Harry doesn’t want anyone to see them coming back to the school together, and raise any unnecessary questions. Louis has half a mind to argue and say it’s nearly dinnertime, and no one was going to be in the courtyard, but he concedes and shrugs one shoulder. “Sure.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, and Louis believes it — the contrite look on his face is sincere. “Really, I am.”

“It’s alright, I understand.” Louis offers a small smile. “I’ll see you later.”

“Alright. Bye.”

Louis kicks some pebbles around as Harry walks away, telling himself he’ll count to a hundred before starting up the hill again — when he sees Harry stop a few feet ahead. He turns on his heel and makes his way back to Louis; when he reaches him, he takes both hands to the sides of Louis’s face, and pulls their mouths together.

It’s a relatively quick kiss, but every time Harry’s lips are on his, it’s like someone has charged the air with electricity, buzzing between their bodies and fogging his brain in the most pleasant way. Louis melts into Harry’s touch, sighing into his mouth.

Yearning rolls off of Louis in waves, thick and much too obvious for his own liking.

When Harry draws away, he begins to walk backwards; a dazzling smile on his face and dimples on full display. There’s a rare softness where the hard line of his jaw would normally be, which has been more common than usual, lately, much to Louis’s pleasure.

“Right. Bye, for real this time.”

“Watch where you’re going before you trip and whack your head on the stone, Styles,” Louis calls out, cheeks noticeably flushed, and his grin just as goofy and wide.

•◈•

Later, Harry trudges up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, happy to walk in his room and see his bed after a long day.

He drops his bag by the door, toeing off his shoes and pushing them to the side, when the sight of his trunk reminds him of the conversation from earlier.

Kneeling before the foot of his bed where the old trunk lies, Harry pops the latches open, and lifts the lid open. He starts shuffling through the general, long-forgotten junk stored in there, his sights set on a few specific items he hadn’t thought about in a long time.

At the sound of his rummaging, Harry’s roommate, a brown-haired Scottish boy named Callum, looks up. He’s nice enough, Harry thinks, but he hasn’t said much in the time they’ve been rooming together. “You looking for something, mate?”

“Yeah, I’m, erm,” Harry waves, “Just looking for some old stuff. Nothing to worry about.”

After a few minutes of not being able find what he’s looking for, he starts emptying the contents onto the floor, dumping his belongings carelessly. That’s when he finds them, on the very bottom of his case, covered in a light layer of grime and dust from neglect.

Harry smiles, and picks them up; five well-loved, beaten up leather journals.

Thumbing through the first few pages, he laughs at the nearly illegible words in his twelve year-old handwriting:

_Don’t touch if you are not Harry Edward Styles. I mean it!_

The warning is double underlined in bold, red markings, as Harry clearly meant business.

The pages that follow after are equally as hard to understand, but contain some of his first impressions and professions of love for the new creature he had encountered during his favorite class; his first time seeing a Hippogriff.

Scribbles come soon after that, some crude drawings he’d attempted from memory of his favorite Hippogriffs he’d seen that day. The splash of red feathers drawn onto the page, the lines hilariously weird and wrong, but endearing all the same.

Harry smiles. He’s long since transferred any viable information over to his other journals, in much more legible handwriting, but these were a sweet reminder of the way it all began — just an innocent young boy dumbstruck by magnificent creatures.

_I’ve heard of Hippogriffs before, but in person they were unlike anything I’ve ever seen_

_HIPPOGRIFFS CAN BE UP TO EIGHTEEN FEET TALL WHEN STANDING ON THEIR HIND LEGS_

The notes steadily become more excited, his entries including Hagrid and the first time he allowed Harry to come after class and assist him in feeding the herd, and Harry was certain he’d die from happiness.

Then, it stops.

A quarter of the way through his fifth journal, the entries end entirely, from when his father had forced him to stop taking the course.

Harry recalls a heartbroken young boy replacing the elated one, as distressed to leave the Hippogriffs behind as if they were his real friends. He loved them as though they were, that was for certain.

He lasted the remainder of that year of thinking about them, drawing them absentmindedly in his classes, over summer holiday, and three weeks into the next term — until he swallowed his pride and walked out to the cottage with his heart in his hand, and begged Hagrid to let him help out, just so he could see them again.

Hagrid was quite confused as to why Harry didn’t just continue taking Care of Magical Creatures if he was so interested in them, and Harry didn’t have the heart to tell him the real reason why. He simply explained it away as his class roster being too full, and Hagrid never asked again.

Harry sighs, flipping through the rest of the pages, laughing at his own juvenile enthusiasm. Before he can think against it, he puts all the journals in his pile of books for the next day. Giving these to Louis would be far easier, instead of trying to sort through his mess of half-edited pages at Hagrid’s.

It's strange, the fact that Harry is even _considering_ letting anyone other than Hagrid read through his journals, but he doesn't feel worried that Louis will judge him; make fun of him, surely, as was Louis's way, but Harry feels safe. 

Another odd feeling for him.

_Safe._

•◈•

The next day, Louis heads to the Potions classroom for lunch. Under his arm is the small paper bag-lunch Niall has been putting together for him every day, running into the Great Hall and sneaking a meal out for Louis so he doesn’t have to go inside himself.

It wasn’t an exaggeration when they said Hufflepuffs were extremely loyal.

Since the ‘Great Divide,’ as Professor Doyle had affectionally nicknamed it, Niall remained Louis’s eyes on the inside. He continued to sit with his girlfriend and the other Hufflepuffs for breakfast and lunch, and according to him, Elowen sat with some of her Ravenclaw friends, with Zayn and Liam still missing from the Great Hall entirely.

It started with an excuse, Louis’s coming to the Potions classroom at lunch. At first it was for “help” on his essay on the effect of Befuddlement Draught — an excuse which Doyle saw straight through, but he humored Louis anyway — and that only lasted for a day. The next day, when Louis found himself shyly lingering in the doorway, Doyle glanced up at him with a smirk across his thin lips.

“Don’t tell me you’re here for more assistance with your essay,” Doyle commented, and Louis didn’t even try. He’d simply held up his pathetic bag of lunch and gave the professor a half smile that he hoped was charming.

“Fancy some company?”

Doyle smiled. “Have a seat, Louis.”

After that day, Louis didn’t feel the need to explain why he had lunch with the old man every day. He just… Did. He found solace in their conversations, and it didn’t take very long for Louis to spill his entire life’s story to Atticus, discovering that he’d made a new friend in the absence of his old ones.

“Afternoon, Atticus,” Louis strolls into the room, pulling up his usual stool in front of the professor’s desk. He lets his bag slide off his shoulder, and kicks his feet up. “How has your Wednesday been?”

“Magnificently dreadful,” Doyle sighs. “I’ve not had a moment to sit since the day begun. My Wednesday morning students require much more repetition work than I care to allow.”

Louis hums sympathetically. “Second years?”

“Unfortunately. It may just be old age catching up to me, but some days it does feel as though I’m instructing a small horde of goblins. How has Wednesday treated you, thus far?”

“Alright,” Louis shrugs as he unwraps a sandwich from his lunch bag, and takes a large bite. “I’m in a bit of a bind, considering I’ve got a massive exam for Transfiguration on Friday, but I can’t go to the library for the books to study.”

“Ah yes, so the Great Divide continues.”

“It does. I’m too afraid to go to the library to study because that’s usually where Liam hides out, or my _room_ because if he’s not at the library, he’d definitely be there, and the common room is off limits because _she’s_ always there.” Louis swallows around his mouthful. “It’s a bloody nightmare, it is.”

Doyle nods thoughtfully. “Have you given any more thought to a reconciliation?”

“Of course I have,” Louis replies easily, and it’s true. The sooner Louis doesn’t have to tiptoe around the castle halls, the better. “It’s all I think about. I just… I don’t know how.”

“You already know what I’ll have to say to that.” Doyle rolls his eyes, which is always an action that Louis always finds to be hilarious, at how quickly it morphs the old man into an unamused teen. “An apology as good a place as any to start.”

Louis snorts. “I’m not apologizing for fuck all.” As soon as the words leave his lips, Louis’s eyes go wide, and he claps a hand over his mouth. “Oh — Merlin, Professor. That was vulgar. I - I’m sorry.”

“You’re expressing yourself,” Doyle has a sly smirk on his face. “Sometimes those words slip out. I know it may be hard for you to imagine, but there was a time, once, when I was young too.”

The acceleration of Louis’s heart slows. He relaxes. “That’s not hard to imagine at all, Attie. You’re young at heart.”

“Hm,” Doyle chuckles, waving his hand for Louis to continue his thought. “You were saying, how you refuse to apologize?”

Those words make Louis’s face scrunch. He doesn’t like the way the professor has made it out to be, like Louis is a petulant child. He crosses his arms over his chest, and sticks his bottom lip out.

“I don’t _refuse_ to,” Louis hates the defensive edge in his voice. “I just don’t think I should _have_ to. To Elowen, of course, but not to Liam. I’ve not done a thing to him, and he’s been acting like a bloody brute for weeks.”

“But Mr. Payne, his frustrations lie with that way he believes you’ve been treating Ms. Stone, yes?”

“Yeah,” Louis mumbles. On a sigh, he adds, “And he’s not wrong. I know that. I just don’t know why he had to kick me when I was down, is all.”

“Then perhaps, at the very least, you should start at the place you are certain to be wrong. I imagine the other issues may fall into place, as well.”

Louis squirms in his seat, suddenly feeling like he’s under a magnifying glass. Doyle had a way of making all of Louis’s problems seem like they had silly, simple solutions, if he’d just open his eyes.

“Do you have to be so wise all the time? You’re like — I don’t know, Yoda, or something.”

“I do not know what that is. But yes, I do.”

•◈•

With the conversation between Louis and the professor still fresh in his mind, it seems like an odd stroke of fate later that afternoon when Louis is headed out through the Quad toward Hagrid’s, and he spots a familiar figure sat on a stone bench.

His chest aches wide as an open chasm at the sight of Elowen, her white-blonde hair standing out against her robes like a slice of moonlight in the middle of the day. The more immediate, selfish parts of Louis yearns for her as his friend, as one of this favorite people to talk to when he felt lost.

The moment he spots her, Louis side steps, practically diving behind a large column to shield himself. His pulse thrums steadily in his ears as he weighs his options, his escape route —

It would be so easy for Louis to keep hiding behind the columns, go back the way he came, and avoid her path completely, before she’s even seen him — to give him more time, to _really_ be ready to face her; though he knew that day may never come. He had to do it now, and the Universe, or fate, or _something_ was giving him an opportunity.

 _What would he say?_ All this time to think, and Louis still can’t decide whether or not to tell her the truth, to lay it all on the table once and for all.

 _Would she laugh in his face?_ Yell at him? He deserves it all and more, and he isn’t too proud to admit to himself that he’s _scared_.

Leaning his head back against the wall, Louis pulls a heavy breath in through his nose, shuddering it back out again through parted lips. He peeks back around the corner, where Elowen’s profile is just in view. Any courage he’s mustering begins to fizzle out acutely, replaced by a chilling fear that no matter what he says here, it may not make a difference — he may lose his best friend forever.

With one last breath, Louis steps out from behind the wall.

Louis comes up behind her, trying to think of an acceptable way to greet her after hiding like a coward for so long, but the scraping of his shoes against the stones give him away. She looks up at the sound, and regards him before he can say anything.

“Well, well,” Elowen announces lamely, and gives him a weak grimace. She shuts the open book in her lap, and lays it on the bench beside her. “The scandalously elusive Louis Tomlinson. Nice of you to finally find time for me.”

“Hi,” Louis blurts his response, and as soon as the word escapes his lips, he truly wishes he could punch himself in the face. _Hi?_

“Hi? _”_ Elowen vexed expression seems to echo the exact sentiment of his thoughts, “That’s what you’ve got for me? _Hi?”_

Despite all the weeks he’s had to think it over, Louis still doesn’t know what to say; but he figures an apology is as good a place as any to start. “El, I - You have no idea how sorry I am.”

“I would have, if you had just spoken to me,” Elowen retaliates. “Instead, I’ve had to sit here all these weeks and wonder what in the bloody hell I did to deserve you treating me like this. I thought we were better than that.”

“We are—“

“Odd way you have of showing it.” Elowen interrupts.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Louis says. He balls his fists tightly by his side, his nails digging into the skin of his palm — it stings, but it stops his stupid hands from trembling. “The truth is, I didn’t know how to… How to tell you that I—“

“I know you don’t want to be with me anymore, Louis. I’m not daft.” Elowen scoffs. She tosses her hair over her shoulder, holding her head high. As per usual, her face is a picture of stubborn pride, but Louis knows her too well. He knows there’s a quiet anger bubbling underneath her calm surface.“The only bit I’m confused about, is why you felt you had to hide from me instead of just saying so.”

“Because it didn’t happen like that, El." Louis hangs his head. "It wasn’t ever that simple.”

“ _What_ didn’t happen like that?” Elowen’s face hardens, then falls as understanding overcomes her. “Oh, Merlin. You — You’ve met someone else, haven’t you?”

Godric, this was the hard part. Louis doesn’t understand why his heart is physically aching so much, _he’s_ the whole reason this is happening, but it hurts all the same. “I did, yeah.”

Elowen stiffens. Nods once, gravely, like she’d already known. “Do I know her?”

The question effectively freezes Louis in place, his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. “I —“

“There’s no need to lie, Louis, it’s alright. I’ll find out some way or another.”

“Him,” Louis spits out.

“Pardon?”

“Him,” Louis repeats, his mouth dry as he says the word, “You do. You know him.”

Elowen pauses, recognition passing on her face. She blinks. “ _Him?_ ”

“Y-Yes.”

Elowen closes her mouth. Turning her gaze to the ground, she stands abruptly, leaving Louis behind to stand against the railing of the Quad. After a few silent moments, Louis follows suit, though cautiously. He stares out at the sparkling surface of the lake, watching the wind shake the trees across the water, blowing a chilly draft through the corridor.

“I know this is a lot to process,” Louis finally says, his voice shaky, “But more than anything I want you to know… I _need_ you to know that I’m so _sorry_ , and I never, ever wanted to hurt you.”

Every second that Elowen stays silent is another second that Louis is sure he’s going to burst into flames, his stomach churning violently.

“Please say something,” Louis sputters out, “I swear El, I just might be sick if you don’t.”

“I’m not sure how you want me to respond to this,” Elowen whispers lowly, her gaze turned to the floor. “I really haven’t got a clue.”

"I know this isn't easy for you to hear," Louis says. "I would completely understand if you - if you never want to speak to me again."

"Are you kidding?" Elowen looks baffled. "What kind of person would I be if I did that? How could I ever hold something like this _against you?_ It's not like you chose to - you didn't - I just don't know what you want me to _say."_

“Just say you won’t hate me forever,” Louis pleads, his voice equally as quiet. His hands tremble violently. “I - I understand if you don’t want to be around me anymore, but - just _please_ say you won’t hate me forever.”

“I wish I could say that I’m fine with it, but-” Elowen finally turns to face Louis, her mouth pressed into a tight, grim line. She blue eyes shine with unshed tears, but they never leave Louis’s. “Nothing has changed for me. I still - I still _love_ you.”

Each word is a kick to the chest. Louis nods, his own eyes wet. He doesn’t know if it would be more or less helpful to assure her that he loves her too, and he always would, but it wasn’t in the same way. He knew that much to be certain —it hadn’t been the same for a long time.

He decides against it, and nods again. “I know.”

“Then I think you also know that I could never hate you, Louis,” Elowen’s tear-filled eyes finally spill over onto her cheeks, and she stubbornly crosses her arms over her chest. “Never. Not if tried.”

A weight the size of a mountain is lifted off Louis’s chest, the words igniting a hopeful spark in him that he may not have fucked things up forever. Surely, by the look of Elowen’s face, it would take time for anything to be normal between them again; he’s unsure what that version of “normal,” would even look like, but at least she would be there.

“This is mad. This is _mad,_ ” Elowen murmurs, pinching at the bridge of her nose — a telltale Elowen move whenever she was stressed. “I suppose I knew we’d be breaking up, I mean, I figured as much, but I never imagined we’d be having _this_ conversation.”

“I didn’t either.” Louis admits. Everything in him is screaming to reach out and comfort her, but he’s too afraid to get near her. “Not in a million years.”

“I still wish you’d told me sooner.” Elowen says.

“I didn’t want to lose you,” Louis takes a chance, and steps a bit closer. “That’s why I took so long to tell you, I just didn’t want to lose you.”

“Don’t you think I was afraid of the same thing? Don’t you think I was terrified that I’d done something stupid that day, that day in your room —“ Elowen claps a hand over her mouth, horrified. “Oh, Merlin’s fucking tits. I practically forced myself on you!”

“You absolutely did not,” Louis chokes, “Please, don’t ever think anything like that. I didn’t even know how I felt, not at that point.”

Elowen shakes her head absently, and wipes her face. “Meanwhile, you were off shacking up with someone else… Who is it?”

Louis blanches. “You don’t… You don’t actually want to know, do you?”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t at least curious.”

“I’m sure, and you’ve certainly got every right to be, but… but don’t you think we should,” Louis sputters, waving his hands in the air as if that will help get his point across. “Wait a little while?”

“Wait for what, exactly? The worst bit’s already over. I won’t want to be the last person who finds out who my boyfriend’s new boyfriend is, will I?”

The word _boyfriend_ in reference to Harry sends Louis’s poor brain into a tizzy; of course he’s thought once or twice about if he and Harry would ever get to that point, but there was so much more that came with that. Did Harry even want that? Would he have to be the one to make it official, or wait for Harry to ask… How would he tell his _mum_?

Louis forces himself back to reality. Those seemed like inconsequential issues in a sea of much, much bigger problems in his life.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Oh hell, Louis. I don’t want to get into the semantics of it all.” Elowen sniffles. “C’mon, then.”

“We’re not together,” Louis repeats carefully. “I’m still… Sorting things. We’re only just now figuring it all out.”

“Drag it on any longer, would you.”

She’s right. There was no reason to make it any more painful than it would probably be — Louis shuts his eyes and breathes, “It’s Harry.”

Bracing himself for the inevitable pause, Louis watches the emotions pass on Elowen’s face. She cocks her head, and her eyes narrow as she says, “The only Harry I know is Styles.”

Louis nods. “That would be him, yeah.”

“Fucking — _hell._ ” She blurts. “ _What?_ ”

“El, I don’t want this to—“

“What in the absolute bloody fuck,” Her red-rimmed eyes go cartoonishly wide. “You’re with Harry _Styles_?”

“Well, no, but also, it’s — it’s complicated.”

Elowen stares blankly for a long beat. “Louis, you — you recognize how utterly absurd this is, don’t you?”

“I do. Every day.”

“Oh, Godric. Wow,” Elowen puts a hand to her forehead, and exhales explosively as her head shakes back and forth. “ _Fucking_ — wow. Alright. _Wow_. Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Just — give me a minute,” Elowen holds a finger up, with one hand cupped over her mouth in quiet shock.

“You continue to surprise me, Louis Tomlinson. You really fucking do.” Elowen scoffs, a bitter, sharp sound. “Harry Styles stole my boyfriend. I can’t believe I’ve just said those words out loud.”

“If it makes you feel any better, he didn’t really steal me. I’m sure this would’ve happened eventually, he just made me realize it sooner.”

“Doesn’t actually make me feel better. Cheers, though.”

Louis rolls his eyes at the sardonic response, but his heart feels oddly lighter, like he can actually talk about it. “I wish I could explain it. It happened out of nowhere, I thought I’d gone mad.“

“Don’t rule that out just yet, you may be fucking mental. Not for your choice in men, though. You’re all clear in that area. Harry Styles may be a dick, but he is _fit_.” Elowen closes her eyes as soon as the words leave her mouth. “That was a bit weird to say, wasn’t it?”

“A bit.”

Elowen pushes her face in her hands with an exasperated sigh. “Let’s pretend I never said that.”

“It’s alright, I’m still sure not what to say either, most of the time.” Louis laughs gently. “Suppose the one good thing to come of all this is that I found out now, before—“

“Before you accidentally settled down and married me and were stuck forever?”

Suddenly serious, Louis frowns. “I would never have been _stuck_ with you, El. I wouldn’t have thought of it that way, even if we had.”

“ _Godric_ , I know, I know,” El waves her hand. “I’m just making a joke because at least if I’m laughing, then I’m not crying. I think that’s the only way we’ll get through this.” She looks at Louis then, and places her hand on top of his. “But we will. Get through this.”

Louis breathes a heavy sigh of relief. “You’re an incredible person, El.”

“I know. More’s the pity.”

For the first time since they started speaking, Louis truly laughs, and Elowen joins him; just two old friends giggling incessantly like they used to.

“Is it alright if I say you’re handling this remarkably?” Louis shakes his head. “Like, really well. So much better than I could’ve hoped.”

“How’d you imagine I’d react?”

“Well, you’re better off than Liam when I told him. We haven’t spoken in weeks.”

El’s face screws up. “Is that why he’s been acting like a fucking knob lately?”

“You said it, not me.”

“That just won’t do. He doesn’t get to stomp around here like _he’s_ the one who’s been cheated.”

There’s the word. Louis detests it, with a great passion, but he can’t be above it. It’s exactly what he is.

“El, I am so sorry,” Louis says again, not sure if he’s said it enough. “I don’t know if that means anything right now, but I hope you know that this, like, _realization_ had nothing to do with you. You don’t have to right this second, obviously, but I - I hope you’ll accept my apology.”

“I might. One day,” Elowen jokes lamely, but the smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. It falters, her mouth twitching as she says, “I don’t know how I’m going to stop loving you, Louis Tomlinson.”

“You don’t have to,” Louis smiles back, the same weak quirk of his lips that doesn’t feel quite right, “In fact, I’d prefer that we keep _some_ amount of love between us.”

Elowen glares sidelong at Louis, “You know what I meant, twat.”

“I know,” He laughs, placing his hand over hers. Meeting the icy blue of her eyes, Louis squeezes once. “I know.”

•◈•

The rusted hinges of the greenhouse door give a high-pitched whine in complaint as Louis bursts through it, the frame loudly slamming against the other side of the wall.

_“STYLES.”_

_“Fuck!”_ Harry’s head shoots up from here he’s knelt down in the flowerbed, and he puts a startled hand to his chest. “Wha— Merlin’s fucking beard, Louis, what’re you coming in here like that for?"

“Because I’ve just finished your book,” Louis waves the stack of leather journals above his head, “And I’ve got a bloody _bone_ to pick with you. I cannot _believe_ you had the gall to try and tell me this was no good, when it’s actually—“ The words die abruptly on Louis’s lips as he gets a good look at Harry. His arms fall to his sides. “Oh my god.”

“What?” Harry asks, pushing off his knee to stand straight. He wipes the excess dirt from his hands on the front of his apron, and removes his gloves. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you—“ A giggle bubbles through the seal of Louis’s tight-lipped smile. “Have you got a ponytail in your hair?”

Harry’s face shifts, his eyes going wide for a half-second. “It’s - It’s just to keep it out of my face,” He mutters his explanation, immediately reaching up and tugging the elastic free of his hair. Curls spill lopsidedly around his face, and he shakes a hand through them, smoothing his hand down the front.

“No, wait, I didn’t mean to laugh!” Louis maintains his composure long enough to cross to where Harry is stood, laying the journals down carefully on one of the steel tables on his way. Louis reaches up to ruffle his hand through Harry’s mussed-up ringlets. “I liked it.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“I did, I swear! Please put it back, it was very, um, cute.” Louis takes his bottom lip between his teeth, hesitant to have said something like that —it isn’t like him, but from the way Harry’s cheeks instantly take a pink coloring, Louis doesn’t regret it. “Please, put it up again. It was cute.”

“Hmph,” Harry grumbles. Louis watches as he deftly twists the elastic between his thumb and middle finger, scooping the hair off the back of his neck and into a small, mussed-up bunch of curls on the top of his head. Louis wants to comment on Harry’s speedy, almost _expert_ technique, but he represses it, opting to watch Harry with wild delight.

“Much better,” Louis announces proudly, rolling up on his toes to kiss Harry lightly on the cheek. As he comes back down, Harry swiftly hooks an arm around Louis’s waist to pull him back in, their lips coming together this time. The rousing familiar scent of _Harry_ fills Louis’s nose, like clean laundry and freshly turned soil — he automatically wraps his arms around Harry’s neck, responding to Harry’s grip on his waist.

They kiss with a deepness that they haven’t explored before, and Louis feels the exact moment that Harry cautiously opens his mouth wider, his tongue swiping the inside of Louis’s lip like an answer to a question that Louis’s been asking for weeks, like permission —

Eventually they break apart, Louis humming contentedly. He keeps one arm slung around Harry’s shoulder, his fingers lazily twisting in the curl at the nape of Harry’s neck — with his free hand, he presses his thumb in the ditch of Harry’s dimple, flexed by Harry’s enamored smile.

Louis doesn’t know what lives in beautiful boys like Harry — magnificently beautiful boys, who should want for nothing, but somehow still have a quiet dissatisfaction for life simmering underneath the surface. The singular change in Harry was something Louis never thought he’d see, but then again, nothing that had been happening lately was ever in Louis’s line of prediction.

“I like this.” Louis whispers. “I like that I’m seeing more of it.”

“What?” Harry whispers back. His honeyed smile still holds true, and Louis feels a bit like he’s being blinded by a beam of direct sunlight.

“This,” He presses a bit firmer in Harry’s cheek, “Your smile. I think it’s my favorite.”

“I’m glad you’re almost certain about that.”

Louis rolls his eyes back. “I meant my favorite of your features, you self-deprecating arse. Speaking of self-deprecating,” He steps back from Harry’s embrace, back to where the journals lay. He picks one up and knocks on the cover. “You told a lie. These are fucking excellent.”

Harry’s wrinkles his nose. “Right, 'excellent’ is a stretch, even for you. They’re mostly nonsense. Especially that early on, I had no idea what I was talking about.”

“Precisely!” Louis replies, “Even so, they’re _still_ good. It’s filled with facts and shit I didn’t even know about — those bloody adorable hand-drawn pictures? Publishers would eat this up, I know it.”

Harry pulls the gloves out of his apron pocket, pulling them back over his hands. He sidesteps around the table, back to his position in the flowerbed. “You’re mental. No one is seeing those pictures. You should count your blessings that _you_ got to see them.”

Louis matches his step, following him into the daisies. “ _You’re_ the mental one. I had no idea you helped Hagrid fucking _birth_ a Hippogriff. What was that even like?”

“Gross as you’d imagine,” Harry chuckles, “But also, it was absolutely fucking mind-blowing. Hagrid even let me name the baby.”

“I’m going to need you to share that name with me, right this instant.”

“Thunderclaw,” Harry says, with an adorable amount of pride. “I named him Thunderclaw.”

Briefly, Louis recalls the three pages in the third journal that had just been filled with names similar to that, which had looked like:

  1. ~~**GUARDCLAW**~~
  2. ~~**STORMPLUME**~~
  3. ~~**FLUXBILL**~~
  4. ~~**FLUXWING**~~
  5. ~~**DASHBEAK**~~
  6. ~~**??**~~



Louis smiles softly. “Did you spend a lot of time coming up with that?”

“Of course I did. I agonized over it for days.”

Louis throws his hands in the air. “Exactly! You’re so bloody passionate, how can you not see that this has so much potential, and you’re just throwing it away!”

“I’m not throwing anything away, it’s all just,” Harry waves his hands, “Mindless babbling of a twelve-year old. There’s no reason to stretch it into something it’s not.”

“Harry.” Louis says, capturing the boy’s attention —his head whips at Louis’s rare use of his real name, and his brow cocks. “I wouldn’t boost your ego for nothing.”

“That’s comforting.”

Louis crouches to his level. “You insist on shitting on yourself, but I’m here to inform you, I won’t allow it.”

“Wonderful.”

“I’ll stop preaching after this, I swear,” Louis insists. A small spade lies unused in the dirt, and Louis picks it up. He digs underneath the root base of several flowers and assists Harry in gathering them. “But just hear me out. If these are just the rough drafts like you say—“

“They are.”

“Right,” Louis exhales. “I get it. These are supposedly your worst versions, which means whatever you’re hiding at Hagrid’s must be miles better.”

Harry stays silent. Louis takes it as a means to go on.

“I just want to see you do something that makes you happy.” He sighs. “The thought of you forcing yourself into something you’ll hate, when this is so obviously something to pursue —“

“Obvious to who?”

“To Hagrid,” Louis retorts instantly. “To me, and probably anyone else who’d read it.”

“You’re very sassy, today.”

“I’m sassy every day. Why’re you changing the subject?”

“Because there isn’t anything else to talk about,” Harry says mildly, his tone neither mad nor irritated; simply indifferent. He raises from the flowerbed and crosses to a worktable across the room, basket in hand. “I appreciate your, erm, _concern_ about it all, but I promise it’s alright. I’m fine with this being exactly what it is, which is just something I do in my free time.”

Harry’s gaze drops when he feels Louis’s weight pressing up against his back, going slightly limp when Louis’s arms wrap around his middle. The warmth of Louis’s cheek is pressed between his shoulder blades, and Harry can feel each beat of his heart, even through the material of his thick jumper.

“What—“ Harry stills his hands, dropping his basket back to the table. “What are you doing?”

“I’m giving you a hug,” Louis says. He tightens his embrace, breathing deeply. “Have you never been hugged, before, Styles?”

The question is obviously teasing, meant to be a joke, but if Harry truly thought about it, he couldn’t remember the last time someone held him. A hug, as simple as it was, felt like quiet bliss that Harry wasn’t allowed.

Harry’s breath catches in his throat, but he covers it with a light chuckle. He lets his arms rest on top of Louis’s, and grips the smaller boy just as tightly.

•◈•

Later in the week, Louis’s life begins to feel less like a derailed train barreling through a hurricane.

With a substantial amount of hesitation, Louis decides to go about his day as if it were any other, and sit in his normal spot in the Great Hall for breakfast.

Louis sits onto the wooden bench, certain that everyone is staring at him, certain everybody knows he’s fucked up massively. His knee bounces under the table, his hands folded tightly in his lap, until Niall slides into the open space directly across the table.

“Fuck me, it’s good ’t see you,” Niall smiles, reaching to grab himself a biscuit from a large tray in the center of the table and biting enthusiastically into it. Around his mouthful, he adds, “I love Lenora, I do, but if I had to listen to anymore chinwag about Hufflepuff gossip for a minute longer, I might’ve just stopped coming to breakfast altogether.”

Louis opens his mouth to reply, but a voice to his left beats him to it.

“As if you’d ever skip a meal,” Elowen steps over the bench, taking her normal seat by Louis’s side. She gives Louis a smile, bumping her shoulder to his.

As a form of retribution later in the day, Louis offers to carry Elowen’s textbooks as he walks with her to class, chatting absentmindedly about everything he’s missed out on in the past weeks.

Walking down the corridor together, laughing and teasing each other, Louis feels like everything is falling back into place, order being restored.

Until he spots Harry coming down the opposite end of the corridor.

The overwhelming instinct to reach out and touch him is almost unbearable. As they cross paths, they don’t even meet each other’s eyes, and Louis pretends it doesn’t make his chest tight with longing.

Elowen, sharp as she is, doesn’t miss the interaction — or lack thereof. Her eyes narrow to two slits.

“Did you — did he just ignore you?” She asks, craning her head all the way around to make sure she’s seen it correctly.

“It’s not like that,” Louis explains, though the churning sensation in his gut is telling him otherwise. “We’re just laying low.”

“What, is he hiding you, or something?”

“It’s complicated.” Louis says, tired of saying those words out loud; to others, and to himself. “It’s only for now.”

“That’s rubbish,” Elowen comments, but Louis can tell she won’t say any more on the subject.

Louis forces himself to smile. Only for now.

•◈•

Behind him, the Slytherin team is gearing up, making last minute adjustments before they’re meant to head out to the field. Louis stands before the mirror, adjusting the silver _Captain_ badge, pinned to the left panel of his robes, tightening the straps on his gloves.

His broom, a Silver Arrow, was a gift passed down to Louis from his captain last term — and even though it was a hand-me-down, it was his most prized possession. Louis treasured each nick and scratch on the wooden handle, each bristle poked slightly out of place. They were all for a bit of good luck, in Louis’s head.

With a last nod toward his reflection, Louis takes his broom from it’s hanging place in his locker. “Right, how’re we all feeling?”

Scattered throughout the room, his team nods their response, slowly shuffling together to form a semi-circle around their captain, awaiting the final words Louis usually gave before each match — final tips, reminders not to forget the drills they’d gone over in practice.

But looking around at his team, his _friends,_ Louis only feels an insurmountable pride rise up in him.

“You lot have made me so fucking proud,” Louis starts, surprised by the emotion that’s crawling up the front of his throat. “Honestly, you’ve got no idea how much each of you has grown as players. I’ve watched you teach each other, and learn from each other, that’s the best thing I could hope for, really. You’re — You’re the finest team I’ve ever been apart of. I’ve never been as proud of _anything_ as am I to be your captain.”

“Oi, come on, Lou. Don’t choke us up right before we’re meant to go out,” whines Isla, their Keeper, and Louis presses his lips into a thin smile as he sees her eyes are glistening.

“Right, you big sap, ’s not even our last match yet,” Archie clears his throat, and his voice is also suspiciously thick; Louis chooses not to call him on it. “We’re gonna smash it like we always do. We’re right behind you.”

Louis juts his chin out. “You bet your arse, we will.”

The team laughs, and Louis thrusts his non-broom hand to the center of his small circle. Everyone follows suit, stacking their hands atop his eagerly.

“ _Awake, alive, alert!”_ They chant together. Louis grins.

“ _Want some?”_

_“GET SOME.”_

•◈•

They’re not winning.

Louis isn’t worried, not in the slightest — the only downside of Quidditch for Louis, and by that he meant there was literally _one_ fault to his beloved game, was that there wasn’t _enough_ of it. With only four games per term, Louis treasures each second of every game, and he seldom enjoyed a quick and easy match.

There was no joy, no challenge in that; Louis loved to sweat, to work for his victory.

So even with the score sat a tight, unrelenting 110-120 and a Ravenclaw lead, Louis isn’t stressed. In fact, his chest is rising hard from exertion, he’s got sweat sliding down his temple and terrible windburn on his face, and he’s never been happier in his whole life.

They’ve just completed two plays that caught them up to the Ravenclaws within five minutes, and he’s elated. This game was testing his team to their limits, putting everything they’ve been working on during practices to good use. All the long hours, all the repeated drills and efforts were paying off, and Louis feels so proud he could probably burst with it.

Circling back around, Louis does something he doesn’t normally do, and he allows his gaze to slip towards the spectator’s seating. It doesn’t take long to find what he’s — _who_ he’s looking for.

There, in the front row of the second section of stands, is Harry.

He seems to have come alone, as Louis doesn’t recognize any of the people around him, but he’s _here._

Their eyes meet, and a wide grin spreads across Harry’s face, one Louis knows is just for him. Harry waves a hand close to his chest, and in his fist, Louis spots a small but very distinct emerald and silver banner.

Slytherin colors.

Louis holds his broom steady to hover in place, checking across the pitch to make sure Archie and Astrid are completing the play.

Once he has, he doesn’t feel the least bit guilty when he indulges himself to lift one hand to wave, smiling widely until Harry’s face melts into something horrified and panicked, his mouth screaming silent words Louis can’t even remotely hear.

Louis’s brows come together, his smile melting away, as he turns his head towards Harry’s line of sight.

Just as Louis processes what’s happening, it’s already too late. He turns his head to confirm his fear, and from the corner of his eye Louis locates a Bludger flying in his direction at full speed. Before he can react, it knocks him clean in the side of the head.

The immediate blast makes Louis’s vision go blurry, the connection of the ball to his head initiating a steady throbbing in the side of his skull, radiating all down his spine.

The rest happens almost in slow motion for Louis; his fingers go slack, slowly releasing their grip on the broom handle, his body slumping over the side.

Louis barely registers that he’s falling as gravity takes over and his body plummets towards the ground — he feels weightless, his robes whipping wildly around him with his head tipped back towards the sky. The clouds are nice, he supposes. It’s a lovely, sunny day, an ideal day for a match. A bit chilly, but still, it’s a new view.

He should probably have the sense to be more afraid than he is, but the vicious pain in his head won’t allow Louis to focus on much, all he knows is _down. Down, down, down_ —

“ _Arresto Momentum!”_

A sudden jolt takes over his body mid-air, causing his limbs to flail out on either side of him, and Louis cries out. The spell slows his descent considerably, but unfortunately, it’s not enough.

The ground still comes up underneath Louis, his head slamming into the sand of the pitch. _Hard_.

There’s an unmistakable, excruciating _crack_ of what Louis knows to be his bones breaking, though he doesn’t know which ones. It’s impossible to pinpoint, when his entire body is engulfed with agony. There are patches of discoloration popping in and out of his sight, spots dancing in his vision while a steady thumping pounds the inside of his head like the beat of a bass drum.

_Boom. Boom. Boom._

Louis manages to suck in two shuddered, labored gasps of air, his lungs searing sharply as though he were drinking fire. The clouds continue to pass overhead as he fails to get a full breath in, and all the sounds of the stadium are muffled by his pulse in his ears.

Approximately six seconds pass of blinding, white-hot pain before Louis’s eyes roll back in his head, and everything around him goes mercifully dark.

•◈•

Elowen’s voice is the first thing to pierce through the hazy fog of Louis’s mind.

Louis’s tucked himself away, he thinks, into a soothing, blissful blackness where he doesn’t have to feel anything; only floating contentedly in his own dreams. It gets harder to remain there, however, as the voices around him steadily grow louder and sharper.

It’s nothing much at first. Just a bunch of distant-sounding, incoherent noises; almost like someone in the next room was trying to shout at Louis with the door closed. He wishes they would all just pipe down, because he _was_ having a lovely dream, and the voices were very much disrupting it.

“Do you think he can hear us?” Elowen asks.

“Of course he can’t, he’s asleep.” Niall’s says. He sounds a tinge more afraid when he asks, “He’ll wake up eventually, right?”

“Merlin, Niall.” Zayn replies. “What kind of question is that? He’s not dying.”

“It was a hard fall,” Liam counters. “A hard, long fall. Lou’s lucky it wasn’t worse than this.”

There’s a pause, and Niall mutters, “Hardly seems like luck, to me.”

“His - his face looks really flushed, is that normal?” Harry’s voice chimes in, his tone worry-filled and wavering. “Are you sure he’s comfortable, Madam Pomfrey?”

“You lot have me on a knife’s edge. First, I’m herding an entire Quidditch team out of my Infirmary, and now this. We have got to let him rest, now.” Madam Pomfrey’s voice scolds them into silence, but she must have found some value to Harry’s concern, because the next thing Louis feels is the cool sensation of a wet rag sweeping across his forehead. “You can come visit in the morning.”

“With all due respect, I’m not going anywhere.” Harry’s replies sternly. There’s some pressure on Louis’s hand, and Harry repeats quietly, “I’m not going anywhere.”

The more alert he becomes, the more Louis starts to feel the blooming points of pain radiating across his body. His shoulder, his arms, his bloody _back —_ he feels about ninety years old, the way this pain is smarting up his spine.

Louis groans, attempting to bicycle his feet under the blankets — they’re too heavy, too hot, but he can’t open his mouth to say so. It’s almost impossible to swallow, with his throat feeling as dry as the desert.

After serious effort, Louis cracks one eye half-open, and groans again.

Harry’s face is the first to come into view, just barely — Louis’ mind is still foggy as he comes to, but it’s hard to mistake those wide, molten green eyes. “I think he’s waking up!”

Louis pokes his tongue out of his mouth to gingerly swipe it across his lips. “Water.”

“What?” Harry asks, urgently squeezing Louis’s hand. Too hard. Ouch. “I didn’t catch that, Lou.”

“I think he said water,” Zayn replies. “He’s asking for water, Madam Pomfrey.”

Unable to do much else, Louis nods his head to confirm, the motion lumbering and painful; like his head is deep under water.

“I’ll get some,” Liam interjects. “I’ll get you water, Lou, just hang tight.”

Louis had assumed he was awake, but upon further thought, maybe he _was_ still dreaming. It’s an odd concept to see all of his friends crowded together around his bed; including Harry sat immediately to his right, clutching his hand like it was his lifeline.

Liam comes back around the bed with a cup of water that Louis gratefully takes a sip from, the water sliding blessedly down his throat like liquid gold.

This seems to be all his body has energy for, because as soon as he leans his head back on the pillow, weight falls on his eyelids, and it becomes more difficult to keep them open. The fog encroaches on his mind, and the voices steadily fade.

Everything goes quiet again, and he slips back into that blissful, dark nothingness once more.

•◈•

When Louis opens his eyes next, his head feels considerably less foggy, though as a result, the pain is considerably more noticeable.

Louis blinks to alertness, and the details of the Infirmary come into view. It might be the Muggle portion of his brain that finds him so in awe of the architecture of the Infirmary; despite the fact that Quidditch-related injuries have brought Louis into the clinic more times than he can count, he still thinks it’s beautiful.

There’s no light coming in from the grand gothic windows, only a few candles lit by his bedside, so he figures it must sometime in the middle of the night. The cots around him are empty as well, for which he’s thankful — it meant there were no other injuries from the game. Louis is alone.

Alone, with the exception of the head of brown curls currently rested on his thigh.

Louis’s chest aches at the sight, partially from his injuries from _literally_ falling out of the sky, but more because he’s becoming a giant sap for the Gryffindor boy snuffling in his sleep.

Louis moves his hand to lightly scratch through the dark ringlets, and gently wake Harry up.

Harry stirs beneath him, picking his head off the bed and blinking groggily at Louis.

“Y-You’re awake,” Harry stands hastily from his chair, brushing sleep-rumpled hair off his forehead. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything? I’ll go get Madam Pomfrey—”

“Settle down, boy scout,” Louis says dryly, the words rasped and hardly above a whisper. “How long was I out?”

“A few hours,” Harry answers. “They gave you something for the pain, ‘m not sure what, but it knocked you out.”

“Thank Merlin,” Louis laughs, but it’s a mistake — the motion jars his aching ribs, and he winces, his face twisting up in pain.

“Fuck, be careful,” Harry warns, still hovering over Louis. “Please, be careful.”

“Sit down,” Louis reaches up and grabs onto Harry’s forearm, and squeezes gently. “Honestly, you’re going to work yourself into a fit. I’m alright.”

This placates Harry enough for him to take a reluctant seat, and sigh heavily. He looks drained as he rubs a hand down his face. “You’re not alright. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Believe me, this isn’t how I wanted to spend my weekend.” Louis jokes, but Harry’s face doesn’t change. His eyes look a little wild as he scans Louis for any more obvious signs of pain. “C’mon, Styles, broken arms are only temporary.”

Louis gingerly waves his arm, clad in a thick plaster cast, but thankfully already set back in place — he did _not_ want to be awake for that particular moment.

“I know you’re trying to be funny for my sake, but,” Harry shakes his head, and it’s then that Louis notices the red tinge on the tip of his nose, under his eyes. It’s hard to see in the dim candlelight, but it’s definitely there. “You - you didn’t see it. The way that Bludger hit you, the way the you fell — the way you hit _the ground,”_ Harry shudders, the movement wracking his whole body. “Madam Abernathy tried to stop it, but she didn’t get to you in time, and it was _terrifying_ because all I could do was sit there and just - just _watch_ , and—”

“Slow down,” Louis’ brows come together as he takes Harry’s hand, “Easy. It’s okay, _I’m_ okay—“

“But you weren’t,” Harry chokes out, looking up at Louis with tear-filled eyes. The sight of it sends Louis reeling with jolt of shock, and his heart lurches. “Your arm was all — and your _head_ — it was just horrible.”

A single tear falls down his cheek, and Harry is quick to wipe it away with the back of his hand. He sniffles once, and exhales a strangled laugh.

“I don’t think I’ve ever run so fast in my life,” Harry admits, despondent. “I got down to the pitch but they had already moved you, and I swear, I thought about taking someone’s fucking _broom_ back to school because it would be faster.”

Louis breath catches in his throat. “So much for your subtlety, then.”

Harry laughs again with watery eyes, this one lighter. He leans forward, touching his forehead to Louis’s. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“It’s part of my charm,” Louis whispers, smiling gently. He tips his head to the side slightly, allowing Harry to move the rest of the way and press their lips together, his eyes falling shut.

Harry moves both hands to cradle Louis’s cheeks, but his touch is delicate; almost like he’s afraid to push too hard and break him.

“Thank you,” Louis breathes after a moment, “For, you know, staying with me.”

Harry just nods, and lips open against Louis’s as he gives him another wet, slow kiss; Louis’s toes curl under the blankets, his pulse jumping heavily in his throat.

“Louis,” Harry murmurs.

It feels so good that Louis doesn’t want to open his eyes, but he does to meet the bright green of Harry’s. “Yeah?”

There’s one intense moment that Harry examines Louis’s face, like he’s searching for something. It’s a first for Louis, to see Harry’s emotions spread so clearly across his face, something Louis can only describe as _yearning_.

“I’m not the best at stuff like this,” Harry says softly, lifting his face away from Louis’s. He swallows, and keeps Louis’s gaze intensely. “I may never be, if I’m honest with you, but I — I want to be with you. _With_ you. I don’t give a shit who knows, and I don’t care who sees us. I know I’m probably the last person on Earth who should try and convince you that it’ll work out, but I’m willing to try, if you are. I’m in. I’m in this.”

Louis did not find himself to be very dramatic, _(if you asked him,)_ but he swore in that moment, the world may have stopped spinning.

Louis licks his lips, surprised by the husky rasp of his own voice as he asks, “You mean that?”

“Yes,” Harry’s answering laugh is half-filled with nervous jitters, “Of course, I really do. Only if t-that’s something you would want too, obviously,” He adds hastily.

Despite the excitement fluttering in Louis’s chests like a hundred loose butterflies, there’s something heavier there still — fear. Fear weighing down all his butterflies, and convincing him this would never work.

Cocking his head, Louis gives Harry a lopsided smile. “You’re not just saying that because I got brained during the match, today?”

“I wouldn’t say that’s _why_ I’m saying it, but it certainly put things into perspective.” Harry replies, reaching up to brush a strand of caramel hair out of Louis’s eyesight, and letting his palm linger on Louis’s jawline. “Like I said, I’m not good at this, but—” Harry shakes his head, his eyes never leaving Louis’s, “You’re all I think about, Lou. I just want to be near you, like, _all_ the bloody time, and I can never focus on anymore, and I get angry because I see you in the halls, and I want — I _want_ to kiss you. I want to hold your hand. I’ve been so stupid about all of this, but I don’t think I can pretend that I don’t want you for a second longer, because I’ll go mad. I will genuinely lose my mind. And I’m not just saying that. I wouldn’t.”

It takes Louis an embarrassing amount of time to regain composure as his pulse thunders away in his ears, but once he feels like he can breathe again, he replies. “I don’t want to rush you into anything.”

“You’re not,” Harry shakes his head frantically, like he needs Louis to understand. “I promise, you’re not. I may not have much to offer, by means of like, a relationship.” He takes Louis’s hand, and presses a small kiss to the back of it. “But whatever I’ve got, it’s yours. I’m yours.”

Louis blinks rapidly, like the shutter of a broken camera, words lost in his mouth.

“Jesus,” Louis finally sputters out. “Who says you’re not good at that?”

A half-smile quirks at Harry’s lips, confused.

“That whole speech was very _good_ , Styles,” Louis licks his lips, laughing. “Proper rom-com of you.”

“T-Thank you?”

For a brief moment, Louis scans the bewilderment on Harry’s face, and understanding dawns over him. “You don’t know what a rom-com is.”

“No, and I wasn’t going to ruin the moment.”

•◈•

Thick golden beams of early morning light stream in through the high windows, and though it can’t have been comfortable, Louis isn’t surprised to see that Harry remains with his head rested on folded arms at the edge of his cot, snoring quietly.

Louis stretches, ever so carefully — all-too aware of his injuries and the quiet, but still steady throbbing in his head.

For a few seconds, Louis watches the rise and fall of Harry’s breathing, the way his back shifts slightly as he sleeps. The fond smile that forces its way up to Louis’s face is one he can’t fight.

“Harry,” Louis whispers, gently shaking his shoulder until the boy slowly rouses. Harry sluggishly blinks up at Louis through half-squinted eyes, rubbing his hand to his face. “C’mon, wake up.”

 _“Hmph,”_ Harry mutters, his voice gravelly with the morning and lower than usual. Leaning back in his chair, he presses to hands at the small of his back and stretches out, groaning as his stiff muscles release. “How’re you feeling—“

“Hush,” Louis laughs, knowing those were going to be Harry’s next words. “Before you start with all that, go home. Take a shower. Get some sleep in your own bed.”

“‘I’m fine,” Harry insists, “Just need to stretch my legs.”

“Absolutely not. You need to sleep.”

“I slept,” Harry replies easily. The deep rings under his eyes would say otherwise, but Louis doesn’t mention that. “Swear, ‘m fine.”

“I’ll still be here if you want to come back, Styles. I have an inkling I won’t be very mobile in the next few days.”

“I won’t need to come back, because I’m not going anywhere.”

“What if I told you that you stink?”

“Sounds like a personal problem, to me.” Harry leans back against his chair, adamantly crossing his arms over his chest. 

“You’re pigheaded.”

Harry barks a loud laugh, his smile creasing the corners of his eyes. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

Instead of arguing further, Louis simply tilts his head forward, raising one brow. Harry holds his gaze, staring just as intently right back at him, and even though he’s just woken up from sleeping on a _chair_ for hours, Harry is still the most beautiful thing Louis thinks he’s ever seen.

Louis’s face softens, but he doesn’t blink. He doesn’t move.

It doesn’t take much longer of their staring contest for Harry sigh explosively, rolling his eyes back and standing from his chair.

“Fine,” Harry grumbles, and Louis grins. “You are the most stubborn person — _Merlin_. I’m taking a shower, a twenty minute nap, and then I’m coming right back.”

“Make it an hour, and go get breakfast while you’re at it. I sincerely doubt Madam Pomfrey is going to see that you’re fed. Poor ancient woman, she might forget to feed _me.”_

“You think so?” Harry asks, fresh concern clouding his features. “Do you want me to bring you something back?”

“Oh my — _Godric,_ Harry, it was a joke, get the hell out of here,” Louis uses his non-cast arm to shove Harry away, laughing as the boy stumbles a few steps, turning over his shoulder to glare at Louis. “Go on, get! I don’t want to see you back here until you’ve showered, you smelly thing.”

“You’re evil,” Harry’s calls out from the door way, shaking his head as he closes the Infirmary doors behind him.

Louis’s just set his head back against the pillow and closed his eyes when he hears the large doors creak open once again a few minutes later.

Louis chuckles, “What did I tell you about coming back—“

Instead of Harry lingering in the doorway like Louis expects to find, he sees Liam standing there, timidly poking his head through the crack of the door.

“Oh,” Louis says, and he shifts slightly to sit up. Even as slowly as does it, pain still shoots up his side. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Liam repeats back to him, and it feels a little robotic; Louis knows he’s not doing a good job of hiding the surprise on his face at seeing Liam. He remains in the doorway, clearly hesitant. Louis breaks the silence first.

“What have you got there?” Louis asks, though he already recognizes the items Liam’s got in his arms.

Liam looks down at himself as if he hadn’t realized he was carrying anything, and back at Louis. “Y-Your pillow,” he explains, “I, um, I know you don’t sleep well without it, so I thought I’d bring it.”

Louis blinks. “That’s really nice of you, mate, thanks.”

“It occurred to me when I was already halfway here that you’d already slept without it.” Liam walks a bit further in the room, his steps slow and uneasy. “So you might not even need it anymore, but I —“

“I’d actually love to have it,” Louis interrupts, his hand outstretching. “I might be here another night, and the ones in here feel a bit like pillowcases stuffed with newspaper.”

Liam nods, coming the rest of the way until he’s at Louis’s side. He gestures for Louis to lean forward. “Here,” Liam moves the old pillows from behind Louis and replaces them with his own, the familiar scent of their room coming from the fabric, and making Louis feel more comfortable already.

“Thanks,” Louis says, and Liam takes a seat in the chair to his right. He doesn’t meet Louis’s eyes, but he does stare down at his hands like they’re the most interesting thing in the world.

The silence between them isn’t at all like the one Louis had with Harry; that comfortable, easy silence that felt like peace… This silence felt excruciating, harsh, brimming on torture, even — Louis suddenly wishes he had some more of that medication Madam Pomfrey gave him to put him back to sleep.

“How’re you feeling?” Liam finally asks, still not looking up to meet Louis’s face.

“On top of the world, basically,” Louis jokes weakly. He waves his cast arm. “This is my best look. Doesn’t get better than this.”

Liam nods and once again, silence settles over the conversation like lead; ponderous and awkward.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” Louis starts, at the same time that Liam says, “We should probably talk.”

They exchange a glance, and Louis nods for Liam to proceed. “Sorry, you go.”

“Well, I,” Liam folds his hands in his lap, but not before Louis notices that they’re trembling slightly, “I just wanted to say that yesterday was — it really just - I was scared half to death, you know, and I—“ Liam inhales through his nose, blowing it back out shakily from his lips. “I was scared _for_ you, and even more than that, I was scared that I was going to lose my best friend before I got the chance to say that I’m sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be apologizing,” Louis says quickly, “I was a shithead, the way I went about all of this. I could’ve been better—“

“Better at what, Lou? You were confused, and I should’ve — I _knew_ exactly what you were going through, and I just gave you a hard time about it, when I could’ve _helped_ instead. That was wrong, and I’m sorry. I suppose I was just angry that you kept it from me, and I - I overreacted.”

Louis shakes his head, his lips parted with a million thoughts running through his mind, and his rehearsed apology on the tip of his tongue.

“I would’ve come to you, I swear,” Louis whispers instead, “You just… You caught me off guard that night, and I hadn’t even made up my mind about him by that point, and it was all such a bloody mess — I wasn’t trying to keep anything from you. You should have been the first person I told, and maybe it wouldn’t have turned into all this.”

Liam looks up. “All this?”

“All this,” Louis gives an aborted hand gesture between them. “Us not speaking, _me_ not talking to Elowen —“

“I’m glad you spoke to her,” Liam sighs, “I thought she was going to take my head off, yesterday.”

“Why?”

“Because, it was the first time we’d been in the same room in weeks. She really let me have it.”

“ _You_ didn’t speak to her either?” Louis asks incredulously. “Liam, you didn’t have to — _why?”_

“I’m not good at secrets!” Liam throws his hands in the air. “You asked me not to tell anyone, and after the Quidditch match, I was afraid she was going to ask more about you, why we weren’t speaking, and I’m - I’mjust _not good at secrets.”_

“But you didn’t have to ignore her completely,” Louis laughs. “I do appreciate you holding onto that information, Liam.”

The smile melt’s from Liam’s mouth. “I was angry, but I never would’ve done that.”

“I know,” Louis says, “I knew you wouldn’t, I was never worried about that.”

“Good. I’m glad you knew that.”

“You’re my best friend, Liam. I trusted you, and I still do. We’re allowed to fight, even if we haven’t before.”

“This _was_ all very odd,” Liam agrees with a light laugh. “Let’s not do it again, yeah? I think once is plenty.”

“I concur, Payno,” Louis replies softly.

“So,” Liam starts, getting to the bit he knew he’d like the least. Louis notes how he shifts uncomfortably in his seat before he proceeds. “Have you and… have you sorted everything out?”

“It’s still… I’m still getting used to it. To the idea of like, a _him.”_ Louis smiles faintly. “I... I like him. A lot. I know it doesn’t make sense, but I swear once you get to know him, Harry is different —“

Liam puts a single hand up, shaking his head. “You don’t have to explain yourself, Lou. If you like him, that’s - that’s explanation enough.”

Louis pauses. The reassuring smile and warm brown eyes that Louis has always associated with _Liam_ breathes relief straight into Louis’s chest.

“Thank you.”

•◈•

An hour and a half later, Harry's showered and eaten breakfast, having forfeited his nap. As per Louis's instructional demands, Harry attempted to lie down for a total of forty-five seconds, but the jittering anxiety rooted in his knowledge that Louis was _alone_ in the Infirmary made him aware that he wasn't going to sleep, no matter how hard he tried. Instead, Harry opted to eat a quick breakfast, and despite Louis's claim that he was going to be fed, Harry tucked a few biscuits into a napkin for the boy. Just in case. 

As he's rounding the corner, Harry sees the Infirmary door swing open, and Liam Payne stepping through.

Harry falters for a fraction of a second, but decides to go after the boy as he makes long strides down the hallway. 

“Payne,” Harry calls out, half-jogging towards him halfway down the corridor. “Wait a minute, Payne!”

Liam stops, and Harry sees his shoulders rise and fall once as he inhales a sharp breath, turning on his heel to face Harry with an expectant stare.

“What?”

“I just wanted to talk to you, for a minute.”

“So talk.” Liam replies easily.

“I just wanted to say I hope we can be friends,” Harry breathes, “Like, eventually, I - I want us to be friends, you know, for Lou’s sake.”

Liam’s eyes narrow in vexation at Harry’s casual use of Louis’s nickname, as if he’s earned such a right. He faces back toward the corridor, with half a mind to walk away, but turns again to Harry.

“I’m going to be very clear when I say this,” Liam says, “Because I want you to understand; Louis is like a brother to me. That boy in there,” Liam points back over Harry’s shoulder to the Infirmary, “He’s like a _brother._ Family. Which means I’m willing to _protect_ him like family.”

“You don’t have to protect him from me.”

Liam’s brows raise. “You’re actually the only person I would have to protect him from.”

Harry stiffens. “I’m not — I would never hurt Louis. I know you don’t think that’s the truth, and I get why, but I won’t ever hurt him. Never again.”

“I’m not blind, Harry. I see that you,” Liam waves his hand in the air with a roll of his eyes. “ _Care_ about him. In whatever way you can.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean—“

“But, I don’t know how long something like that lasts for people like you.”

_“—People like me?”_

_“_ And as I said, I’m willing to protect Louis, however necessary.”

Harry nods. “I understand.”

“No,” Liam’s shakes his head, “You don’t. I hope you never truly understand what I mean, because in order for that to happen, you’ll have to have done something that _forces_ me to show you. That won’t be a good day for anyone involved.”

Harry pauses, taken aback. “You don’t have to threaten me.”

“It’s not a threat,” Liam says simply. “It really isn’t. I’m just trying to keep us on the same page. Louis obviously cares about you, which means I’m going to deal with it, _for his sake,”_ Liam practically spits the words back at Harry, “But that doesn’t mean that I trust you, because I don’t. Not for a second. And that may never change. I’m not going anywhere, and Louis knows that, so we can be civil until _this_ runs its course.”

The word _this_ makes Harry’s blood boil violently beneath his skin, like he’s nothing more than a phase, a fleeting moment in time.

“And if it doesn’t?” Harry asks, forcing himself to keep a level tone, to keep his face blank. “What if I’m not going anywhere, either?”

Liam laughs, actually _laughs_ in Harry’s face at that, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Harry. You and I both know that at the end of the day, Louis deserves better.”

Harry doesn’t have any more to say, with anger flaring so deeply in his chest, it feels like he’s drank lava. Part of his annoyance has fixed itself in Liam’s words — and the fact that deep down, Harry agrees. His face falls, an unexpected swoop of dejection twisting through his gut.

“Right,” Liam says tersely. “Seems like we’re on the same page, now.”

Harry swallows past the lump in his throat. “I guess so.”

“I’ll see you around.” Liam nods once, before turning on his heel back towards the corridor.

Harry watches him go, frozen in place, his mind still stuck on Liam’s words — they turn over and over in his head.

_Louis deserves better. Louis deserves better. Louis deserves better._

How obvious it must seem to everyone else, that Harry is nowhere near good enough for Louis —

He only hopes it takes longer for Louis to realize than the rest of them.

•◈•


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A lion does not concern itself with the opinion of sheep."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hey hi, pals!
> 
> This update came a little later than I expected, so thank you for holding on tight while I finished it. I hope you'll think the wait was worth it :)
> 
> If you happen to do the tumblr thing, you can find me on tumblr at sweetcanyonmoon (I love making new friends) 
> 
> As always, thank you guys for reading and still taking this journey with me. All the comments/kudos push me to get off my ass and write, and makes my day without fail. 
> 
> ENJOY! <3

•◈•

Harry’s palms are sweating.

Not in a subtle way that he can ignore; he’s wiped his hands down the front of his trousers _twice_ now, and he can still feel the sticky warmth of his skin as he clenches his fist.Harry musses a few fingers through the front of his hair, losing any faith that he’ll actually get it to fall the way he wants it to. The bit at the top is fluffed up from sleep, and the longest of the curls are reach to his jawline. It’s a typical Wednesday, or it could be, if Harry could just relax.

He’s fucked, really.

It’s the third night in a row that Harry’s woken up with a jolt, from an unsettlingly realistic dream. Centered around a pair of vivid blue eyes, a sweet lilting voice, long dainty eyelashes that hug the top of his cheeks when he laughs —

Whipped. Harry is absolutely and completely and irrevocably whipped.

Even after the past few weeks, it’s still an odd concept to wrap his mind around.

Louis.

The worst parts of Harry’s mind have convinced him that he’s made all this up. That he’ll wake up one of these mornings and find that all those dream-like encounters, every kiss and touch and joke will have been just that — a dream.

Standing before the mirror, Harry’s fingers fumble with the same knot in his tie that he’s made every day for the better part of seven years, and he’s got no excuse, really.

“Fuck,” Harry mutters aloud, loosening the tie once more and starting all over again. He loops the first bit of fabric under his forefinger and back over his thumb, as always, and reaches to grab the tip to pull through — and as his hands tremble, he falters and drops the tie again. “ _Fuck.”_

Across the room, his roommate Callum glances up from his position at their shared desk, an open book in front of him. He turns, resting his arm on the back of the chair.

“Alright, mate?”

Harry glares at himself in the reflection.

“I can’t get this - this fucking thing to just — tie,” He mumbles, mostly to himself, but Callum laughs.

“You can’t get… Your tie?”

“Bloody fucking — _fuck,”_ Harry grumbles, frustration deepening his tone. “Why the fuck do we still wear these?”

“Beats me,” Callum replies. He walks over to where Harry is stood, and holds his hand out. “Let me see it.”

Harry reflexively opens his mouth to protest, and argue that he _very much knows how to tie a fucking tie_ , but instead he sighs and obeys, slipping the tie over his head and passing it over.

Callum takes the tie and wraps it around himself, swiftly fixing it into a clean knot, one slightly more advanced than Harry’s usual; after he’s secured it, he loosens its position around his neck, and brings it back over his head, still perfectly intact.

“Here,” Callum says as he hands it back to Harry, “This is how I normally do it. Just take it off this way, and you won’t have to re-knot it every morning.”

Harry smiles awkwardly as he takes his tie back, “Thanks, mate.”

“Don’t mention it.”

As he finishes dressing for the day, jolts of anxiety continue to spark through every nerve ending in Harry’s body. He huffs out a heavy breath every few moments that he can’t physically contain, or he just might explode.

After he’s tied his shoes while sat against the edge of his bed, he’s officially ready, and he can’t put it off any longer.

Harry rubs his palms down the front of his thighs. _Again_.

As Harry slips on his robes, he lingers in the doorway of their room, glancing back. “Any chance you’re headed down to breakfast in the next few minutes?”

The brown-haired boy shakes his head, pointing down at his textbook with the quill in his grip. “Gotta skip breakfast this morning. I completely shat the bed and forgot about my Astronomy test today. Studying up.” After a pause, his brow raises, once he’s truly registered Harry’s question. “Why?”

“No reason,” Harry replies instantly, though the furrow in Callum’s brow suggests that he doesn’t believe it.

“You sure?”

“Oh, I just, erm,” Harry shuffles from one foot to the other, awkwardly backing out of the door. “Just wanted to see if you’d, um, wanted to walk together.” The quizzical expression on Callum’s face confirms Harry’s thoughts — that _yes,_ he _is_ in fact an absolute fucking _moron._ “Just don’t um, don’t worry about it — never mind — good luck on your test.”

Harry shuts the door rather quickly after that, shuddering at how painfully uncomfortable that was, and how he may never be able to face his roommate again. Harry puts his face in both hands, dragging them down his cheeks.

“Bloody hell, Styles. Pull it together,” Harry attempts to shake himself free of the jitters that are shooting like electricity from his fingertips.

He takes the stairs of Gryffindor tower two at a time, muttering to himself all the way down, “It’s just _breakfast_.”

•◈•

Breakfast is Louis’s favorite part of the day.

It’s his favorite meal, and he starts the morning off surrounded by his favorite people; even though the Great Divide had only lasted for a few weeks, it felt like a lifetime. This is where he, and all his friends belonged. Back together.

“You’re shitting me,” Niall gasps, wiping tears from his eyes. He slaps his palm on the table. “You’re absolutely shitting me.”

“I am not,” Liam deadpans. His arm is slung happily around Zayn’s shoulder, and from where Louis is sitting across the table, it seems as though the pair of them are as loved-up as ever; Louis isn’t quite sure what happened between them, but it’s as if nothing’s changed.

“You’ve got to be exaggerating,” Elowen giggles, and Louis grins with her.

“I swear. She just flew through the wall and _stared_ at us.” Liam insists, nudging Zayn. “Tell them, babe.”

“It’s true,” Zayn tells them sullenly, his mouth turned into a half-frown. Louis barks a loud laugh, and Zayn shoots daggers from his eyes. “Though it was much less funny in the moment.”

“Having a ghost spy on you while you’re _tossing around_ in the school bathroom is exactly what you deserve,” Niall wheezes, and Louis nearly chokes on his mouthful of hash.

“We weren’t doing _that,”_ Liam’s face shifts to a deep pink, Zayn puts his face in his hands, and Niall is sent into a fit of laughter again.

“Who knew Moaning Myrtle was such a freak _,”_ Elowen adds, sighing down from her giggles. “Maybe it’s not her first time. Maybe she’s seen you two before and decided to come back for more."

A horrified look drains the color from Liam’s face. “I didn’t even think about it like that. I have no idea how long she was even there before we noticed.”

Zayn shakes his head. “You’re all going to scar him from ever using that bathroom again.”

“I imagine you’d be pretty upset by that, wouldn’t you, Zee?”

If looks could kill, that comment would earn Niall a special spot in the seventh level of Hell — they all launch into another round of loud laughter, accompanied by Zayn and Liam’s flushing faces.

Louis pulls another biscuit off the large tray in the center of the table. “C’mon Niall, now you’re just being mean.”

“He’s only cranky because he’s not getting any,” Elowen mutters.

Niall points his fork at Elowen. “I’m not falling for that. You don’t know what I get up to.”

Elowen shrugs, picking apart a piece of toast from her plate. She pops the corner piece in her mouth. “Just seems convenient that you’re unwilling to share with us.”

“Being unwilling to share doesn’t mean it’s not happening.”

“El, leave him alone, he’s just a shy little lad, innit?” Louis coos, reaching across the table for Niall’s hand, which the Hufflepuff boy smacks away. “Doesn’t want to kiss and tell.”

Niall holds up a very rude finger to Louis, glaring with a hilarious severity. Then, his face shifts, looking up and past Louis. The whole table goes quiet, and Louis’s face scrunches.

”Aw, c’mon Niall. It wasn’t that serious,” Louis tilts his head, confused as to why Liam and Zayn have suddenly started staring down at their breakfast. “Why do you all look like you’ve seen a—“

Bewildered, Louis turns his head to find Harry stood behind him, an awkwardly wide smile plastered on his face.

Louis blinks.

Dressed in his Gryffindor robes, Harry looks wildly out of place; you didn’t find many Gryffindors coming to sit with the Slytherins.

There were many inter-house friendships, of course, even _relationships,_ but there was an unspoken rule between the Slytherins and Gryffindors during mealtimes that Louis had obeyed since his time at Hogwarts, and Harry was not-so-subtly disregarding it.

Even the Ravenclaws at the next table have checked over their shoulders to glance oddly at Harry, but they turn back eventually to whisper amongst each other.

“Hi,” Harry says. His smile holds true.

Louis blinks, again, his tongue seemingly glued to the roof of his mouth.

“Hey,” Louis finally replies, though it comes out more like a question. ‘ _Hey_ ,’ roughly translated to, _what are you doing here?_

“Do you mind if I—?” Harry points down toward the bench, and Louis blinks twice more, his mouth half-parted in silent shock.

It dawns on Louis rather belatedly that Harry is asking to _sit_ with them, and after processing the question, Louis nods.

There isn’t much room on either side of him, only a few inches to his right — Louis just continues nodding stupidly, his pulse thrumming a million miles a minute in his ears.

From across the table, Louis is all too conscious of the burn of Liam’s eyes on him, though he can’t tell if he’s angry, or maybe just confused; Louis doesn’t blame him.

“Y-Yeah, sure, let me just—“ Louis looks to his left at Elowen, his eyes sending a message of helplessness. Something that he hopes says: _I’m sorry, I didn’t know he was going to do this, I would’ve given you a warning,_ and asks at the same time, _are you okay with this?_

Elowen’s eyes widen for a split second, and though she looks distressed, she scoots to the side to make room for Harry nonetheless.

“Thanks,” Harry murmurs, sliding in next to Louis. That odd, lopsided grin still remains on his face, and he makes himself comfortable. “Didn’t mean to interrupt whatever you were talking about."

Louis, who feels a bit like his brain is about to fall out of his head, can’t remember for the life of him what they were even talking about. He wracks his brain for a subject, something to start them up again, but comes up short.

“We were um,” Louis begins, though he doesn’t know where he’s going with the rest of his sentence. “We were just talking about—“

Mercifully, Louis’s sentence is interrupted by the signature sound of birds flying overhead; owls of all sorts filing in through the highest window of the Great Hall, carrying the mail for the day. Louis heaves a relieved sigh, grateful for something else to capture everyone’s attention.

Letters and various parcels begin to drop on the tables, breaking some of the tension-heavy air. Niall catches a small package mid-air, as do Zayn and Elowen.

A light blue envelope falls onto Louis’s empty breakfast plate, straight into the remainder of his eggs, his mother’s familiar cursive handwriting scrawled across the front.

“What’ve you got?” Niall nods towards Louis’s mail.

“A letter from my mum,” Louis smiles distractedly.

He’d been getting more correspondence from his mother recently, as the Headmaster had written to inform her about Louis’s injuries — of course, he’d gotten an _immediate_ letter in response demanding an explanation from Louis as to why _he_ didn’t write to her himself.

 _“You’re lucky she can’t send you a Howler.”_ Niall had said, and he was right. His mother would be far too big a fan of the Howler, though the mental image of her using any type of magic is wonderful to Louis.

His mother _hated_ dealing with the owl-mail service, and avoided it at all costs, so it was always special when he received something from her. Louis tears the envelope open, reading through the contents of the letter. He laughs.

“What’s it say?” Zayn asks.

“She’s asking what I want for my birthday. And a direct quote, ‘ _Lottie is knitting you a jumper. She asks to know what color you prefer.’”_

“Your birthday is soon?” Harry asks, peering over to get a look at the letter.

Louis looks sidelong at him, the sight of him sitting at their table still so very weird — as is the smile that’s cemented on his lips — how could he be smiling for that _long?_ His cheeks must be hurting by now, Louis thinks, and he quirks a brow to question why he _looks_ like that, but Harry doesn’t budge.

“The 24th,” Louis confirms, and Harry’s eyes widen.

“That’s next week.”

Louis shakes his head. “Not of this month, of next.”

“Christmas Eve?”

“That’s me,” Louis tries to laugh, but it comes out strangely. “Christmas usually overshadows my birthday, though bless my mum, she tries.”

“Oh,” Harry nods, and though it had disappeared for a half-second, the smile returns to his face.

Louis waves the letter to his friends. _“_ I guess Lottie’s into knitting, now?”

“Wasn’t it quilting last year?” Liam replies. Louis glances up at him, trying to gauge his tone. He’s keeping his gaze firmly locked on Louis’s face, which Louis assumes is to ignore the very real and very present Harry to his right.

“Yeah, and painting, the year before last. I still have the butterfly she painted for my birthday.” Elowen nods, and Louis’s even more shocked to hear her speak. She won’t look up from her plate, but she’s being a good sport all the same.

“She’ll be right pleased to know you kept it, I’ll tell her at Christmas.”

“Who’s Lottie?” Harry asks, his tone still bizarrely cheerful. At the sound of his voice, Niall glances back down at his plate, Elowen bites on her lip, pretending to busy herself with her package, with Zayn and Liam suddenly launching into their own conversation.

“My sister,” Louis answers slowly, Harry’s perky expression beginning to fully weird him out.

“Oh,” Harry says, nodding thoughtfully. On a slight whisper, he adds, “You have a sister?”

“I do,” Louis replies, trying to sound casual. “I have, um, four. Sisters.”

“Oh,” Harry repeats. His brows draw together. “Oh.”

“Anyways,” Louis clears his throat. “She’s been getting into different crafts over the years. She’s very creative, and I guess this year she’s knitting.”

“My mum went through a knitting phase, too,” Niall adds, and Louis could kiss him — well, not literally. He’s just elated to have something ease the tension. “Remember that?”

“Oh yeah,” Liam laughs. “Fifth year. Every jumper you owned was knitted.”

“Is that why you always wore those?” Zayn asks, “I thought you were just really into knits.”

“Yes, Zayn, like all sensible lads our age, I found myself dedicated to knits.” Niall rolls his eyes.

“My mum really liked to sew when I was a kid,” Harry offers. Nobody replies, and Louis flushes with the heat of embarrassment for him.

The bell suddenly rings, a sharp and loud chime alerting them that breakfast is over — Zayn, Liam and Elowen seem to scramble up from their seats, the relief on their faces clear as day.

“Well, I’ll see you in study hall later, Lou,” Zayn calls over his shoulder as he walks away, with Liam practically dragging him away by the hand. “Bye!”

“Bye,” Louis replies flatly, watching them go, with Elowen following after. She doesn’t give Louis a real goodbye, but she does glance over her shoulder when she’s nearly out the door.

Wistful longing passes on her face as quickly as a flash of light, but Louis catches it, and it grips his heart all the same. She offers him a ghost of smile, and by the time he lifts one hand to wave, she’s already gone.

“You’d think there was a fire,” Niall comments, and Louis would laugh, if he didn’t feel like he’d just been punched in the gut.

“You’d think,” Louis agrees sadly.

“I’ve got to go too, got Condower first hour. She’s always crotchety if you’re late,” Niall stands. “But I’ll uh, I’ll probably catch you lot later.”

“See you, Nialler.” Louis says.

“Yeah, see you around,” Harry adds, waving him away robotically.

The very second Niall is out of earshot, Harry drops his head, and finally lets go of the odd smile that’s been plastered on his face since he sat down. His posture wilts over like a dead flower. “Fuck.”

“What in the world—”

“Your friends hate me. They absolutely hate me.”

“They don’t hate you, they’re just — I think they were just taken by surprise, I didn’t—“ Louis sputters, losing his train of thought. “What _was_ that? _”_

“What do you mean? I was trying, like, so hard to be fucking — I don’t know, _friendly.”_

“Is that why you were smiling like that? You looked like a maniac.”

“Oh, _Merlin.”_ Harry drops his head in his hands. “Fuck. _Fuck.”_

The Great Hall has mostly cleared out, save for the few odd stragglers scrambling to finish their breakfasts — Louis tentatively lifts a hand to stroke down Harry’s back, but on second thought, drops it.

“Why didn’t you just tell me you wanted to sit with us?” Louis asks softly. “I could’ve at least given them a warning, or something.”

“I just thought — it’d been a few weeks since we talked about everything, I thought I would surprise you, just dive in — I, I don’t know what I was thinking. It was stupid.”

“Not stupid,” Louis corrects immediately. He scans their surroundings quickly, and upon finding only two Hufflepuffs left across the room, reaches for Harry’s hand under the table. Harry’s eyes meet his, and their fingers tangle together familiarly. “ _Sweet_. And quite frankly, brave. My friends are not an easy bunch to crack into.”

“I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not.”

“They despise me.”

“You kind of ambushed them,” Louis says, and the slight pout of Harry’s lips is making Louis’s heart sink further by the second. “Give them a chance. I promise they’ll warm up.”

“I just—“ Harry shakes his head and puffs out a hefty sigh.

“What?” Louis asks, gently urging him on.

“I want to be a good, like,” Harry avoids Louis’s firm stare, vivid blue eyes too much for him to handle. “ _Boyfriend.”_

Louis melts, a saccharine sweet smile spreading across his face that makes the creases by his eyes deepen.

Harry frowns. “Stop.”

“That was sweet."

“Oh, fuck off.”

Louis snorts into his palm, and Harry flushes brightly.

“I knew I was going to regret that.” Harry shales his head. “As soon as it came out of my mouth.”

“You know, Styles,” Louis chuckles. “I’m coming to learn that there’s a real sap underneath that stony exterior.”

Harry narrows his gaze. “You’re the worst.”

“No, really. Never would’ve thought you to be the sensitive type.”

“I’m going to class.” Harry stands from the bench with Louis following quickly after, his laughter bringing more healthy pink to Harry’s face.

“Godric, you’re easy to rile.”

Harry rolls his eyes while they exit the Great Hall together. For a split second, Louis considers grabbing Harry’s hand, but he doesn’t know if the boy will survive it. Harry hardly seemed to handle sitting with his friends at _breakfast_ , let alone proudly marching down the halls with Louis’s hand in his.

“You didn’t tell me you had sisters.”

“It never came up,” Louis replies. “I wasn’t keeping it from you, or anything like that—“

“That’s pretty important, you know. Family.”

“Right, like I said, I wasn’t keeping it from you purposefully,”

“I want to know these things.”

“And you will,” Louis laughs at Harry’s serious face. “Eventually. You’re not going to magically know everything about me all at once.”

This answer doesn’t seem to satisfy Harry, as the tenseness in his brows hasn’t disappeared. “I do know you, though.”

Louis tilts his head to the side in question. “Of course you do, Styles. No one is saying you don’t.”

“Well I’ve just gone and made it seem like I don’t know you at all, in front of your friends.” Harry shakes his head, despondent.

“Don’t be bothered by them. I don’t think they’d be impressed by anything you’d say right now, even if it meant you knew the stupid shit, like my favorite color, or my middle name or whatever — I think they’re determined to be hard, you know? The whole, ‘protective friend,’ thing.”

“They seem pretty serious.”

Louis laughs, “Oh, please. None of them would ever actually act on it. They’re soft.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Harry mutters under his breath. “What _is_ your middle name?”

“William,” Louis says. “What’s yours?”

“Edward.” Harry replies, and Louis thinks briefly how much he likes the shape of Harry’s mouth as it moves around the word. _Edward._ Harry notices the far-off look on his face, and cocks one brow. “What?"

“Nothing.” Louis shoots him a sideways glance, the hint of a sly smile gracing his lips. He does a double-take. “Your tie looks nice,” He comments, reaching to tug Harry’s tie. “Did you do something different?”

“Um,” Harry looks down at his tie. A beat passes. “Y-Yes.”

“Hm,” Louis nods. “I like it.”

Harry twiddles around with the tip of the tie, suddenly feeling foolish. “Do you think they’ll ever like me?”

Louis opens his mouth to reassure him, but the reply dies in his mouth. He pauses.

“I hope so.” The downturn of Harry’s mouth doesn’t disappear, and Louis wants so badly to kiss it away. He bumps the edge of his hand against Harry’s, their fingers brushing. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Just be yourself, and they’ll understand. Easy peasy.”

“Easy _what?”_

 _“Peasy,”_ Louis says, laughing at the incredulous look on Harry’s face. “It’s a _saying_ , Styles.”

“It is not,” Harry shakes his head. “Come on. You’ve made that up.”

They round the corner, taking the stairs together. There’s a pair of Ravenclaw girls coming down the opposite direction, and Louis steps in front of Harry to let them pass — in the switch, Harry’s hand comes up to reach for the railing, and firmly grazes Louis’s arse in the process.

“Jesus Christ,” Louis jolts, whipping his head around to find Harry’s face a picture of embarrassment.

“F-Fuck, sorry,” Harry flushes, hurriedly returning his hand back to his side. “I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry.”

Despite himself, Louis laughs lightly, reaching the top of the stairs. He turns before Harry can reach the top as well, keeping him one step below.

He smiles, placing his hands on Harry’s shoulders. “Don’t be.”

“Don’t be?” Harry asks. His green eyes are wide with earnest confusion.

Louis leans forward, Harry’s eyes widening, and eventually falling shut when Louis kisses him. It’s quick, but it’s right there on the main staircase, out where anyone could see — the thunderbolt of wild excitement that goes through Louis’s body is palpable.

“Sorry,” Louis clarifies lowly, something warm settling deep in his stomach as he whispers the words. His palm melds to Harry’s cheek. “About that. Don’t be sorry.”

“Oh,” Harry replies, breathlessly. Louis’s hand is still on his shoulder, and out of reflex, Harry’s eyes dart to check for anyone around, but there aren’t any students left lingering in the corridor. He nods, without really knowing what Louis means.

After a long pause, dumb understanding dawns on him, and Harry’s brows shoot up his forehead. “ _Oh_.”

Louis smiles, the tops of his cheeks heating up.

“You’re smarter than you seem, Styles,” Louis says, affectionately tucking that stray curl behind Harry’s ear that’s constantly falling in front of his eyes. “I’ll catch you later, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry swallows. “Y-Yeah.”

•◈•

Later on in the day, Harry finds himself lingering just around the corner of the doorway of the study hall. He doesn’t know what he’d been expecting, seeing as he’s never been to study hall before, and he just wants somewhere to write. 

It’s a hassle to get all the way out to Hagrid’s in the middle of the school day, just to sit for ten minutes and get back up again, sprinting across campus to make it in time for his next class. Hagrid told Harry to simply go to study hall; Harry is realizing rather belatedly that study hall is probably the opposite to what he wanted.

The thing is, it’s quiet. _Too_ quiet. He’s been standing on the opposite end of the doorway for five minutes, and he hasn’t heard a peep. Not one sound coming from the room, though when he did a walk-by earlier, he’d seen every table full.

He can just imagine walking in, and every head turning his way, staring at him and whispering about him —

Fuck it.

Harry sucks in a deep breath and walks into the room, and surely enough, all eyes are on him and it feels like having a spotlight shone on his face.

Must be the theme of the day, Harry thinks to himself, frozen in the doorway. Being somewhere he clearly doesn’t belong, and everyone can see it plain as day.

He’s got half a mind to just turn on his heel and walk out when he spots a familiar head lowered over an open textbook. He contemplates leaving, still, but something in him loudly insists that he doesn’t. Instead, he hitches his bag higher up on his shoulder, and makes his way across the room.

For the second time that morning, Harry stands in front of a table, his heart in his throat. He leans over and grabs the back of a chair, his fingers gripping tightly to the wood.

“Hey,” Harry says, smiling.

“Hey,” Zayn replies flatly, looking up from his reading for a fraction of a second. He does a double-take as his mind registers Harry’s voice, and his brows come together. “ _Oh_. Hey, Harry.”

Harry swallows. “What’s up?”

There’s a brief moment of silence as Zayn’s eyes flit to the other students in the room, each with open books, silently reading to themselves. The answer to that question is, in Zayn’s mind, painfully obvious; he decides to humor Harry anyway.

“Just, you know,” Zayn lifts the edges of his book an inch. “Studying.”

“Right,” Harry forces a laugh, and it comes out like someone is strangling him. He wishes he could strangle himself. “Study hall.”

“Right,” Zayn repeats slowly. When Harry doesn’t say anything more, he shuts his book. “Did you need something?”

Harry looks around. A few of the students clustered in the corner have begun looking over their shoulders with widened eyes, watching every second of their interaction. He can hear their hushed whispers from here. They look young, maybe only second or third years; so whatever they’re thinking or saying shouldn’t matter to Harry, but still his cheeks feel like they’re made of flames.

He glances back at Zayn, and wonders why this has to be so _fucking hard._

Harry swallows. “No, I didn’t need anything.“

“O-okay,” Zayn says.

Harry shifts his weight from foot to foot, and waits to hear the words he needs to hear. Desperately. Maybe they won’t come, and he’ll just beg for the Earth to swallow him whole instead. His fingers gently tap on the back of the chair he’s still holding onto.

Zayn blinks, and gestures to the chair. “Did you want to sit?”

“Yes,” Harry breathes. “Yeah, thanks.”

Zayn merely nods. He reopens his book to the page he left off on, and begins reading again. Harry carefully observes the way Zayn’s eyes move across the page, the way his finger follows the text, and as he does, Zayn’s eyes flick up to meet his, and _great._ Now it looks as if he’s been staring this whole time, which is so odd and not at all how he wanted this to go — Harry coughs into a closed fist.

“So, what’re you studying?”

Zayn casually dips the tip of his feather in the ink pot, circles something in his text. “Divination.”

“Neat. Trelawney?”

“Um, no. Firenze.”

“Oh,” Harry nods. He clicks his tongue. “Cool.”

“Yup.”

They sit in silence while Harry stares at the table — after a long beat, he pulls his leather journal out of his bag. It’s what he came here for after all, and he’s only got a bit of time left in the hour, but he physically can’t get himself to open the damn thing. It was one thing to write at Hagrid’s when he’s alone, but Harry doesn’t think he’s ever brought it outside of the cottage.

“How often do you—“

“ _Shh!”_ The hush comes from the front the room, from a professor Harry’s never seen before — he holds his hands up as an apology, and the woman’s stern eyes return to her desk.

Zayn eyes Harry’s tense frame up and down, at the way he’s picking at his nails half-under the table where he thinks Zayn can’t see. He pities him, even if it’s a tiny, fleeting feeling in the center of his chest. “You’re not really familiar with the entire concept of study hall, are you? Talking isn’t typically encouraged.”

“Sorry, I’m not even sure what I’m, um,“ Harry blows out a heavy sigh, and shakes a hand through his hair. He pushes his chair back suddenly, and the sound of it screeching against the stone floor causes every head in the room to glance in their direction. “What I’m even doing here, I shouldn’t—“

Zayn holds a single hand up. “Harry. Relax. Sit down.”

Harry obeys, his leg bouncing under the table.

“Go on, then, talk. You clearly want to.” Zayn lowers his head, back into his book. “But keep your voice down, for Merlin’s sake.”

“I didn’t want to talk. I was looking for someplace quiet, I didn’t even know you’d be here.”

“Fair,” Zayn shrugs. “But _you_ sat down here."

“ _Fair_ ,” Harry’s mouth twitches, and he almost smiles. “I think I just wanted to try and show you I’m not a maniac, which I’m sure wasn’t the impression you got this morning.”

“You did come off pretty maniac-like.” Zayn agrees, the same ghost of a smile on his lips.

“I know,” Harry sighs. “Just nerves, I guess.”

“Nerves over what?”

“Are you…” Harry pauses. “Do you actually want to talk about this?”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

“You could just be following the rules of polite conversation.”

“I don’t say anything I don’t mean, Harry.”

Harry huffs out a laugh, the left side of his mouth turning up in a smile.

“Alright,” He concedes. “Obviously I was nervous to meet Louis’s friends.”

Zayn’s brow deepens. “Why’re you acting like we’re meeting you for the first time? We’ve known each other for years.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Quite honestly, I don’t.” Zayn says plainly, and for some reason, this conversation makes Harry feel like he's under a very large magnifying glass.

Harry presses his lips together, and stares at a scratch in the surface of the table.

“I was nervous because it’s hard to sit at a table full of people who hate you, and try and give them reasons not to.”

At this, Zayn’s head picks up. His amber eyes are surprised, shocked, even.

“I don’t hate you, Harry.”

Harry snorts. “You don’t have to say that.”

“Didn’t we just go over this? I don’t say anything I don’t mean.”

Harry hums, the sound half-arsed and unbelievable. Zayn shuts his book fully, and slides it to the left.

“Do you remember second year?"

The question takes Harry off guard. “Sort of?”

“Second year. We had Defense Against the Dark Arts together.”

“Kind of,” Harry says, though he doesn’t completely. Zayn looks at him with mild dubiousness, and Harry shakes his head. “No. Not really.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. You sat with Kinnick all year and made jokes about turning all the pixies loose.”

“ _That_ I remember.”

“Naturally,” Zayn rolls his eyes. “Do you remember the lesson on Boggarts?”

Harry’s brows come together. “You lost me again.”

“Boggarts. We had to face our worst fears and I,” Zayn swallows, his throat bobbing with the motion, “My worst fear is the dark. It always has been, but I figured I’d gotten over it... enough for class, at least. But when the whole room went pitch black, I couldn’t breathe, and I just — I froze.”

Zayn pulls in a deep breath through his nose, and for the first time, Harry watches his cool demeanor slip.

“I opened my mouth to say that I couldn’t do it, and someone… _Someone_ cast Riddikulus. I thought it was Professor Bawter at first, but when the light came back, he said that I'd cast it perfectly.” Zayn tilts his head, and Harry meets his amber eyes intensely. “I hadn’t done it. I didn’t know who did, until I saw you. I caught you putting your wand away.”

Harry doesn’t deny it. He licks his lips, which suddenly feel very dry.

“I know you’re not a bad person, Harry. I never thought that of you.” Zayn shrugs. “Good and bad, it doesn’t work like that. It’s not always black and white.”

“It is to some people.”

“You’re right,” Zayn agrees. “And… _those_ people might take a little longer to adjust. You’ve got to be patient, yeah?”

The words aren’t explicitly said out loud, but Harry knows exactly what Zayn is trying to say. Harry nods.

“I’m trying my best.”

“Maybe that’s your problem,” Zayn chuckles. He slides the textbook back in front of himself, and opens to the page he left off on. “You get this real strange energy about you, at least when you’re, erm, _trying.”_

Harry huffs. “What am I supposed to do?”

“This,” Zayn replies, and finally, he smiles. “This is a good start.”

•◈•

When lunch comes around, Harry makes the decision to sit with the Gryffindors. Surprisingly, nobody comments on his disappearance, which he’s grateful for. Harry sums it up to their own self-absorption, and that fact that they may not have even noticed he was gone, or maybe they’re too afraid of him to broach the subject; either way, he’s pleased to not have to explain himself.

Even though the morning was a disaster, his moment with Zayn in study hall has made his stomach feel a little less like lead, and pushed him a little closer to hope. He may try again. Perhaps not this week, but he will try again.

Though he didn’t plan on sitting with them, his gaze somehow keeps wandering to Louis’s side of the room, to Louis’s face that he can just barely see when Liam moves slightly to the right; every time he throws his head back in a laugh, Harry’s heart squeezes in his chest.

He isn’t very hungry, so Harry just pushes his food around his plate for the better part of the hour-long lunch, zoning in and out of the meaningless conversation Kinnick is carrying on with the table.

“What’s up with you, Styles?”

At the sound of his name, Harry’s head snaps up, finding Kinnick glaring at him with severity.

Harry straightens his back, sitting up and settling his face into a neutral position. “Nothing’s wrong with me, McCreary.”

“Oh fuck off,” Kinnick’s eyes narrow to two slits. He takes a biscuit from the plate in the center of the table, and throws it at Harry’s face, which he narrowly doges. “You’ve been off for days.”

“I’m fine,” Harry insists, and ducks out of the way of another flying biscuit. “Would you — stop throwing shit at me?”

Kinnick grins, barking an ugly laugh. “Sensitive, today, are we?”

“You’re annoying as all fuck, you know that?”

Sloane thankfully intervenes, moving the plate of biscuits out of Kinnick’s reach. “Would you give it a rest, Kinnick? He’s probably just tired.”

“Tired of dealing with stupid bullshit,” Harry grumbles. His gaze returns to the Slytherin table, and this time, he’s caught by surprise; Louis is already looking in his direction.

Their eyes lock, and Louis smiles shyly, lifting his hand to wave.

Harry freezes, and checks to see if Kinnick’s caught his change in demeanor — but he’s already onto something else, ranting and shouting loudly over himself. 

Harry gives Louis a small smile in return, but doesn’t dare wave back and give Kinnick any material for his idiocy. He keeps Louis’s gaze, and the rest of the world seems to fall away to nothing.

After a few moments, Louis subtly jerks his head to the left, signaling to the door. Harry cocks a brow, and repeats the motion, making sure he understands correctly; Louis nods, and Harry watches as he says something to his friends before getting up from the Slytherin table, and heading for the exit.

Harry watches him go, leaving the Great Hall and making a right. Once he’s fully out the door, Harry stands.

Too suddenly, as it seems, as everyone is now looking at him with confused stares.

“Where the fuck are you off to?” Kinnick looks up at him, and Harry’s face warms, and he stutters his excuse. 

“I’ve got to, go, um. Take a shit,” Harry says, and it’s certainly the stupidest thing that’s ever come out of his mouth. The table starts to laugh, and Harry doesn’t stick around to hear any more of their comments.

Harry stalks out of the Great Hall, cutting a right like Louis did, checking over his shoulder for anyone behind him.

At first, Harry doesn’t see Louis anywhere; walking a bit further down the hall he heads up the grand staircase that splits off in two directions, peeking down the first two corridors he comes upon, finding them both to be empty.

“Over here, Curly.”

Harry laughs, turning to see Louis leaning against the opposite wall. He crosses his arms over his chest, and tilts his head.

“Curly? That’s new.”

“Just workshopping some new stuff.” Louis shrugs, his lips pointed in a smirk. He pushes off the wall, and circles around Harry like a vulture chasing its prey. “Do you like it?”

“It’s different.”

“It’s accurate,” Louis says. He reaches up and twirls a single curl of Harry’s around his finger, and lets it drop. “More and more by the day, it seems.”

“You’re not a fan?”

“I didn’t say that, not even in the slightest.” Louis paces around Harry once more, Harry finally turning to face him. Louis walks him back until Harry is pressed up against the wall, and Louis pulls something from within his robes.

“Forgot to give this back to you,” Louis waves Harry’s old red leather journal. “Figured you’d want it back, for your archives, or something. You know, for when you’re a famous author and all that.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry counters, and Louis’s cheeky smile breathes warmth, and something a little more wicked into Harry’s body.

“Oh yeah,” Louis mimics back to him, his voice lower than usual. “People will love stuff like this. They love a backstory.”

“Good to know,” Harry smiles down at him, at the way Louis’s pressed his chest up against his. “You’re stepping on my toes, a bit.”

“Oh, am I?” Louis steps impossibly closer, pushing the toe of his shoes between Harry’s, his knee practically between Harry’s legs. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Harry shakes his head, laughing lightly, though his heart has started to beat a little faster. Louis doesn’t break his stare, and Harry doesn’t want to be the first to break, so he takes Louis by surprise; Harry moves to swap their positions and pin Louis against the wall instead, pulling his face in two hands and pressing their lips together.

“Mmm,” Louis sighs, letting his head tilt back, his arms dropping by his side. Harry smooths his palm down the side of Louis’s jawline, tipping his chin up to meet Harry’s mouth every time it shifts.

Just as he does something truly wild, and lets his tongue slip along the edge of Louis’s lips, the shrill sound of the bell rings, jarring them both.

“Fuck,” Harry says, jumping, taking two whole steps away from Louis.

“Bloody hell, Styles,” Louis pants shakily, blinking as he smooths his robes down. He presses the book into Harry’s chest, and looks up at Harry from underneath his lashes. “That was really… something.”

“Y-Yeah,” Harry takes the book, holding it close to himself. Louis shakes his head, still laughing lightly, and starts for the second staircase behind them. “I’ll… see you later?”

Louis does a two finger salute without turning around, whistling nonchalantly, and Harry rolls his eyes.

“Louis.”

“Later, Styles.”

Harry keeps his eyes on Louis until he disappears around the corner, feeling as oddly triumphant, as though he's won the newest round of whatever game they’re playing.

The sounds from students exiting the Great Hall start to filter down the corridor, their conversations and laughter echoing against the stone. Harry starts up the opposite staircase, heading to his afternoon Transfiguration class.

“Didn’t have you pegged for a flower.”

Harry stops, his blood running ice cold in his veins. He doesn’t want to turn around, as he already knows where and who the voice is coming from. His throat bobs as he swallows past the sick feeling that’s rising in him.

Harry turns around.

“What did you just say to me?”

Kinnick kicks off from his position leaned up against the wall just under the staircase. “I didn’t have you pegged for a _flower_ ,” He repeats, each word a jab. “Arse bandit. Choose your preference.”

“Watch your fucking mouth, McCreary,” Harry says carefully, slowly walking back down the staircase. He steps onto the ground floor, right up to Kinnick, who’s just an inch shorter than him, but still tall enough to look Harry in the eyes as he smirks at him.

“This explains a lot,” Kinnick says, waving his hand in the direction that Louis has just gone in. “Makes a good bit of sense, actually. Seeing that has _really_ opened my eyes.”

Harry clenches his jaw, his teeth grinding painfully as he says, “You don’t know what you saw.”

“Really? Because it looked like you had your hand halfway down Louis Tomlinson’s knickers.”

A vicious rage Harry’s never felt before bubbles violently inside him, his fists trembling by his side. His every instinct calls out for him to knock Kinnick out, but there's smaller voice in his head that restrains him. “I _said_ to _watch your fucking mouth._ You’re forgetting who the fuck you’re talking to.”

“Does your father know what you are?” Kinnick sneers, and Harry’s heart stutters instantly. His feet have rooted to the marble, and he can’t move. From the snide look on Kinnick's face, he can tell that he's struck a fragile chord with Harry. “You know, they’re real close, your dad and mine. I wonder what he’ll say when he finds out.”

“Don’t,” Harry says, and he hates how fucking _small_ his voice sounds when it comes out. His chest is rising with his shuddered breaths. “I swear to Merlin, Kinnick, if you —“

Kinnick’s brows shoot up. “What’re you gonna do? You gonna kiss me too?”

Harry blanches, the color draining from his face. His mouth gapes open, and it like he’s been completely exposed, laid bare right there on the staircase. He’s Icarus, he’s flown too close to the sun, and now his wings have melted; he’s dropping to the ground, hard and fast.

“That’s what I thought,” Kinnick nods, shoving Harry back by the shoulders, and it sends him stumbling, grasping blindly onto the railing. Harry straightens himself quickly, rearing up for a fight, when Kinnick clicks his tongue.

“Ah ah ah,” Kinnick warns, holding his finger up. The first wave of students begin rounding the corner, and he takes a few steps back. “Wouldn’t want any trouble now, would we?”

A herd of first years filter in the space between them, and Kinnick moves along with the flow of the traffic, trotting up the stairs. Once he’s almost at the top, he leans over the railing and calls out in a high voice,

“Later, Styles.” 

•◈•

Louis walks into their room with an explosive sigh, dropping his duffle on the ground and kicking his shoes off in the doorway.

On his bed, Liam lays on his stomach, books and papers haphazardly spread around him. “How was practice?”

“Good,” Louis calls over his shoulder, digging around in his dresser for something to sleep in. He finds an old, worn t-shirt and a pair of shorts and throws them over his shoulder. “Really good, actually. First practice back since the accident, bet they were expecting me to take it easy. I whooped their arses.”

Liam’s face shifts sternly, and Louis puts his hands up in defense. “Relax, _I_ was taking it easy. Just ran drills, is all.”

“Any news on when they’ll reschedule the Quidditch match?”

Louis rolls his eyes. Right after they had cleared him from the pitch, Madam Abernathy decided to put a halt to the game, calling for a postponement until further notice. Even with the healing magic, it still took Louis nearly a week and a half to feel normal again, to even feel well enough to hold practice.

“Not yet. Abernathy says it might not be until after Christmas holiday. They _should’ve_ kept playing without me,” Louis grumbles. “Could’ve just finished the game then.”

“As if the team would ever play without their precious captain.”

“They very well could’ve,” Louis argues, pulling his sweaty shirt over his head. “I taught them as well, they were more than prepared.”

“Samir couldn’t pull himself together for five minutes. No way he could Seek anything through all those tears.”

“You’re being dramatic. Nobody cried for me.”

“Am I? Because I was in the Infirmary while you were knocked on your arse. You know who else was pretty torn up?” Liam shrugs casually, like it’s nothing serious when he says, “Harry.”

Louis’s brow raises, and he spins around to find Liam's face a picture of nonchalance, as if he's said something completely normal. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“So you want to talk about the elephant in the room?”

Liam laughs, though doesn’t look up from his reading. “Clearly you do.”

“What? You brought it up!”

Liam merely hums his reply, his eyebrows waggling suggestively. 

“I didn’t know,” Louis starts, and though he doesn't feel like he has to apologize, his words come out sheepishly. “About this morning. I would’ve warned you all. I didn’t know.”

Liam hums again, returning to his book. Louis picks up his shirt from the ground, makes a little ball out of it, and throws it directly in Liam's face. 

"Hey!"

“You could’ve been a bit nicer to him.”

“Who wasn’t nice?”

Louis tilts his head forward, unamused. “Li.”

“Okay, alright,” Liam says, his hands up in mock defense. “I could’ve like, talked to him more I guess.”

“That’s a start.” Louis moves to sit on the edge of Liam's bed, effectively rustling all of his carefully laid out papers in the process. "You said you'd try."

Liam sighs. "I know, and I will. I just didn't expect to have to try so soon."

"Listen, if it makes you uncomfortable, I can ask him not to try and sit with us again-"

"No, don't do that. I'll live. I just needed a minute to... adjust."

Louis nods, understanding. "It's a lot to adjust to, but I appreciate you trying, mate."

"Yeah yeah," Liam rolls his eyes, and waves Louis away. "Now get your sweaty arse off my bed, and go take a shower. You stink."

Louis's face scrunches up, and he places a hand to his chest, offended. "I do not."

"You do. You're making my eyes water."

"That's rude." Louis says, but he moves to the dresser again to grab his change of clothes. "There's no need to be rude."

"And there's no need for you to smell like a bin - HEY."

Louis laughs, seeing as his dirty sock has landed spot on to Liam's textbook, and Liam flings it away as though he's been contaminated. He peels his left sock off as well, and holds it up menacingly, ready to launch. 

"You want to to keep chatting shit, Liam?"

•◈•

The next day, Harry avoids the Great Hall at all costs.

Every time he steps outside of his classroom and moves to the next, he lingers in the doorway, hesitant. He half expects Kinnick to be there, lying in wait to expose him in front of everybody — but he doesn’t. But that doesn’t remove the paranoia, and it doesn’t loosen the seemingly permanent knot that’s formed in Harry’s gut.

He goes to Hagrid’s for lunch, who gives him a cup of tea and a bowl of leftover soup, and gives the man a half-arsed explanation as to why he won’t be in after school — he takes care of all his normal afternoon chores early, and heads back to Gryffindor Tower for a nap during his free period.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise when Harry is laying in his bedroom later, and Louis’s silver fox comes bounding through the walls, the Patronus delivering a message to meet after curfew in the Astronomy Tower; he has half a mind to ignore it, but he sighs heavily and pulls his shoes on nonetheless.

The Astronomy Tower was the tallest at Hogwarts, and Harry actually didn't mind the class all that much. Harry’s steps slow as he nears the top of the winding stairwell, and Louis comes into view; he’s got his back turned to Harry, arms folded across his chest and hair fluffed up slightly by the wind.

Standing there, illuminated in pale moonlight, Harry thinks he could stare forever.

Harry finally clears his throat, and Louis turns at the sound, a warm smile spreading across his face.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” Louis replies softly.

“Are we allowed to be up here this late?”

“Oh, absolutely not. But it's Zayn’s patrol night, and I asked him for a favor.” Louis cocks his head. “C’mere, help me with this.”

Harry raises an eyebrow, but obeys, crossing up the final two stairs to where Louis is stood. There’s a very large silver lever towards the middle of the room, and Louis puts his two hands on it, with Harry joining him.

“Pull,” Louis says, and together they do, the joints and cogs in the ceiling beginning to creak to life. Above them, the panels of the tower roof shift back, revealing the clear sky above them. They release the lever, and Louis claps his hands free of the light layer of dust. “Much better.”

Harry’s looks up. “Holy shit.”

“I know.”

Louis moves back to bend over with his forearms against the balcony rails, and Harry opts to lean with his back against them, his head tilted back towards the night sky.

It’s a spectacular view that Harry hasn’t seen in a long while; free of clouds, a perfect, velvet navy canvas littered with a field of stars that seem to cover every inch.

His gaze drops to Louis’s face, similarly tilted up towards the sky, his mouth is turned up in a peaceful smile.

“Wow,” Is all Harry says, and Louis sighs.

“I know,” Louis replies. “It’s really beautiful, isn’t it?”

The words are just on the tip of his tongue, that Louis is the most beautiful thing he’s literally ever laid eyes on in his entire life, but they die there. It sounds ridiculous in his head, and he knows it will out loud too — instead, he shakes his head free of the thought.

“It’s nice. Why’d you wanna meet here?”

“I just wanted to see you,” Louis says. “Didn’t see you at breakfast, or lunch…”

“Yeah,” Harry says noncommittally, and Louis leans forward.

“So?” Louis asks. “Where’ve you been?“

“Been in a mood,” Harry replies simply. “I had an…unfortunate run-in with McCreary that ruined my day.”

“Any run-in with Kinnick is unfortunate,” Louis snorts, but when Harry’s expression doesn’t change, he tips his head. “What did he say?”

Harry lips stay pressed together for a second, his mouth twitching with undecided words. “He knows.”

Louis doesn’t need any further explanation.

“Oh,” Louis says, though he can’t quite read how Harry feels about it. Judging by the deep-set frown on his face, he can assume it’s not positive. “And?”

“He’s not exactly the welcoming type.”

“I thought… I thought you were alright with people knowing?”

“I did too.” Harry blows out heavy sigh.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly.”

They stand there in contemplative silence for a moment, the only sound coming from the rustling of leaves from the pine trees below the Astronomy Tower. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, but Louis’s instinct is to reach out and grab Harry’s hand, and for some reason he’s holding back.

“Are you alright?”

Harry shrugs. “I’spose.”

“I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it, but it’s clearly bothering you.”

“Of course it’s bothering me. I just don’t want to get into it right now.”

“If it’s bothering you, then you should let it out,” Louis insists.

“Lou,” Harry says tiredly. “Come on, I said I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“I just don’t see the big issue.” Louis says.

“You’re not going to understand, no matter how I explain it to you. You don’t get it.”

Louis pauses, and watches Harry’s face. His brows furrow in confusion. “What exactly don’t I get?”

“That McCreary is just the start,” Harry shrugs. “This is just the start.”

“Kinnick is an idiot. It won’t be like this forever.” Louis places his hand over Harry’s on the railing. “It’s not like that for Liam and Zayn, or anyone else who’s just trying to be themselves. Things are different.”

“Of course it isn’t like that for them,” Harry lets out a bitter laugh, pulling his hand away from Louis’s. “They’re well liked.”

“And we’re not?”

“ _We’re_ not. You are.”

Louis blinks. “That’s not - you can’t just—“

“This is why I didn’t want to talk about this.”

“You can’t keep ignoring when you feel—“

“I wouldn’t be surprised if my mum wrote me a letter and told me not to come home for Christmas.”

This stops Louis short. “Because of me?”

“Not because of _you._ Because of _him._ Because this isn’t part of his plan for me.”

“You realize how ridiculous that sounds, right?” Louis crosses his arms over his chest. “ _His_ plan for you? The only plans you should worry about are the ones you make for yourself.”

“Not this conversation again,” Harry groans.

“Naturally,” Louis throws his arms out. “We won’t talk about it. You don’t want to talk about any of it, you prefer to let it build up.”

“You have your people,” Harry says, pacing towards the balcony. “You have Liam, and Zayn, fuck, you’ve even got your ex _girlfriend_ who’s willing to stick around if you fuck up. Your mum won’t care who you’re with as long as you’re _happy_. I don’t have that, Louis. I don’t have the luxury of making enemies over something like this.”

Louis’s brows shoot up. “Something like _this_?”

Harry looks back, and sighs. “That’s not how I meant that.”

“How did you mean it?” Louis swallows over the tightness in his throat.

“I just mean that you’re always going to have something to fall back on. You have _people._ I was out there today dealing with the bullshit alone, and it only made me realize that that’s how it’ll always be. Me, against all the bullshit. _”_

“So this isn’t worth it to you?”

Harry whips his head around. “Did I say that?”

“It sounds like it,” Louis retorts. “Sounds to me like you’re letting Kinnick McCreary scare you off.”

“I’m not fucking scared, Louis. Don’t throw that in my face.”

“Alright. You’re not scared, but you’re also not willing to be seen with me in public,” Louis nods, his mouth set in a tight line. He laughs, dryly. “I’m sure as hell not going back to hiding at Hagrid’s, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“Nobody is hiding anything! You’re just-” Harry stops in his tracks. He rubs two frustrated hands down either side of his face, and sighs.

“Help me understand, I _want_ to understand.”

“I just told you. I don’t know how else to explain it, Louis. I’m alone. In all of this.”

 _“_ That isn’t true,” Louis replies, desperate. “You keep saying that. I’m _sorry_ I wasn’t there for you today. I wish I had been, but - you — you have people, H. You have _me.”_

“And what if I don’t have you anymore?” Harry bursts. “What if something happens? Then what do I have?”

Louis’s shoulders sag. The next words of his argument have fizzled out on his tongue. “Oh, Harry.”

“Don’t,” Harry warns. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like _that_.”

Louis moves closer to Harry, “Is that what this is about?”

“Everything I _do_ has to be about that,” Harry replies. “Once this gets out, everyone is going start talking, and - and I know the first thing people are going to say is, _why the fuck_ is someone like _Tomlinson_ fucking about with someone like _Harry Styles?_ And maybe you don’t think that now, but you will.”

“And why in the bloody hell would I listen to what anyone else has got to say?”

“Because, that’s what happens! Word travels, and you start thinking, and you’ll _realize_ —“

“Realize _what_?”

Harry pauses, brushes hair back from his face, which has taken a flushed shade of pink. He blinks.

“I… I don't know.”

“You don’t _know_ , because there isn’t anything _to_ know,” Louis says. “Why’re you so determined to believe that I’ll find something wrong?”

When Harry doesn’t reply, Louis steps forward, and places a gentle hand on his back. “Listen to me. I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to be worried about something like that.”

The silence falls on them again, Harry continuing to stare out over the balcony.

“I’m sorry,” Louis finally says. “That you felt so… alone. I don’t ever want you to feel like that.”

“It’s not your fault.” Harry replies.

“I’m still sorry.”

Harry turns over his shoulder. Louis has moved to sit on the deep blue sofa facing the balcony, his face fallen.

“Come on,” Harry crosses to sit in the open space next to him. “Please don’t look like that.”

“I don’t look like anything.”

“I never said this it wasn’t worth it,” Harry starts, his voice soft. Louis looks up. “It’s… It’s the opposite, Lou. The whole idea of going through all of this, and then something happens anyway, it’s… it’s shitty.”

“That’s kind of the gamble, though, innit?” Louis replies softly. “Look, I don’t know what’s going to happen in the future, but I can tell you I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to worry about that.”

Harry offers him a weak smile, and sighs. “I’m terrible at this.”

“At _this_?” Louis asks, gesturing between the two of them, and Harry nods. “You are not terrible at this.”

“Your friends literally run whenever I’m around, we’re bickering, I can’t kiss you without near losing my shit over it.”

“Speaking of not kissing me… Why is that?”

Harry shrugs. “I dunno. ‘M still nervous about it, I reckon.”

“But it’s not because you… because you don’t want to?” Louis asks, and Harry laughs.

“Why on Earth would you say that?”

Louis looks down at his fingers in his lap, suddenly sheepish.

“A few days ago, when you accidentally, um,” Louis pauses, and sighs. “Touched me. On the stairs. You acted really… surprised.”

“It caught me by surprise,” Harry says simply, “Which is why I acted surprised.”

“I get that, but then,” Louis shakes his head, knowing he sounds like an idiot, “I told you not to be sorry, and you acted as if you didn’t want that. Which is totally fine, you know. If you don’t want that. I just wasn’t sure if you were hesitant because you thought _I_ didn’t want that.”

Louis can’t meet Harry’s eyes, but the weight of the silence is bordering on unbearable.

“I just don’t want you to feel like you can’t. You know. Um,” Louis swallows, “Touch me.”

A long, heavy beat passes. Harry doesn’t say anything, but his brows twitch for a fraction of a second.

“I didn’t know if that was something… You didn’t want to do, yet.” Louis continues, just to fill the silence, and he’d give anything for the ability to _shut up_. “But you can. Just so you know.”

“Do you want me to?” Harry asks, the rush of Louis’s pulse becomes so loud in his ears, it’s actually hard to hear the low words from Harry’s mouth. “Touch you?”

Louis looks back up at Harry, his eyes dragging slowly. He nods.

“Yes.”

Harry tentatively touches Louis’s thigh, and it’s almost electric, the immediate burst of energy that shoots between them. Louis mirrors him, placing his hand atop Harry’s. His fingers slot in the spaces between Harry’s, and they squeeze.

Harry turns Louis’s hand around, his fingers tracing the lines in the soft skin of his palm.

His stomach flutters, and he reminds himself to _breathe_.

Harry feels the barely-noticeable tremble of Louis’s fingers, so he does the only thing he can think of.

He lifts Louis’s hand to his lips.

Harry kisses the back of his hand, his lips brushing over each knuckle. He stays there a moment, letting his mouth languidly brush over each bone and curve of Louis’s fingers. He turns over Louis’s hand again, and presses his lips to his open palm, Louis’s fingers melding to cup Harry’s cheek.

A few inches lower, Harry kisses the inside of his wrist, his movements achingly soft and slow.

Harry’s eyes flicker to Louis’s face at the exact moment that the boy looks up from beneath long lashes, his breath coming in shallow beats.

“Is this okay?” The warmth of Harry’s breath raises the hair along Louis’s arm.

“Yes,” Louis nods, desperation filling his voice. He doesn’t even have the decency to care about inhibitions. “ I — yes.”

It happens all at once, so quickly that he doesn’t have time to register what’s happening, but Louis feels the sensation of his pants growing tighter, and he’s too scared to move, breathe, or do anything that will shatter this moment.

“I want to touch you,” Harry murmurs into Louis’s skin. “I think about it all the time. Too much.”

“You do?” Louis whispers, and not usually one to go fishing for compliments like this, but he _needs_ it. In this moment, he needs reassurance like he needs air to breathe, and Harry’s words are filling his lungs again.

“Of course I do, Lou,” Harry replies easily, as if it’s something obvious Louis should’ve already known. “How could I not? Just — look at you.”

Harry reaches one hand up to brush Louis’s hair back from his forehead, in awe of his view of blue eyes lit from within, the sharp line of his jaw, high cheekbones. His hand slides down to stroke the pad of his thumb across Louis’s bottom lip, slightly parted with his shallow breaths.

Louis’s gaze sinks to Harry’s lips, so pink and soft, curved up in a small smile. Gravity seems to be weighing down heavier, pressing on Louis’s eyelids, moving him closer to Harry, until the tips of their noses are brushing. 

“How could I not?” Harry repeats, his voice hardly above a whisper. He closes the rest of the gap, their lips coming together in a sweet sigh as they finally meet.

Harry loops an arm around Louis’s back, and Louis fingers clenching in the hair on the back of Harry’s head, groaning softly as his mouth opens wider, with Harry sucking gently on his bottom lip.

He murmurs low into Louis’s mouth, “Come here.”

Just as Louis goes to ask how he could possibly be anymore ‘ _here_ ’ than he already is, Harry hooks his other arm around Louis’s thigh, swinging his leg over Harry’s thighs.

“Oh,” Louis yelps, the feeling of being sat on Harry’s lap not doing any favors to the tightness in his pants. _“Oh.”_

“This okay?” Harry asks, his voice thick. “Is this what you want?”

“I’ve uh, I’ve never done this before,” Louis admits, his voice high and breathless. He touches his forehead to Harry’s, certain the boy can feel his heart jackrabbiting in his chest. “I… I don’t know what to want.”

“You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

Louis nods. “I know.”

Harry kisses him once, sweetly, an effort to ease some of his palpable nerves. “Can I touch you?”

“You kind of already are, Styles.”

“No, Lou.” Harry rolls his eyes, but there’s a fondness playing at the edge of his quirked lips. “I mean, can I _touch_ you.”

Understanding dawns on Louis. He can’t keep his eyes from growing wide, and his dick actually twitches in his jeans as he imagines Harry’s massive hands wrapping around him, and how badly he wants it —

“Yeah,” Louis whispers. “You can do whatever you want.”

Harry hums, lifting his chin to catch Louis’s mouth with another kiss. He keeps one hand firm on the small of Louis’s back, guiding him forward, while his other hand slides south, cupping Louis’s arse. Air catches in Louis’s throat, his stomach pooling with low fire.

Their mouths open together, sliding wetly for a slow suck, their heads moving in opposite directions with each new kiss. Louis keeps his hands on Harry’s face, thinking he needs something to anchor him to this plane of reality, otherwise he’ll surely float away.

“Your hands are shaking,” Harry says quietly after a moment.

“Is that the kind of—“ Louis words are interrupted by a succession of one, two, _three_ rapid kisses before he can speak again. “—Thing you’re supposed to say right now?”

Harry shrugs, moving his grip from Louis’s arse to wrap them around his back. “Not like there’s a handbook for this sort of thing.”

“I don’t know why I’m shaking,” Louis replies, which is the honest truth.

He _would_ tell Harry that he shouldn’t worry, because if anything, it’s a _good_ thing — but he’s too distracted by the way Harry has tilted his head, and kissed down the exposed column of Louis’s neck, sucking firmly on a spot just under his ear. Louis arches his chest up in surprise, his head tilting back, panting to the ceiling.

“F- _fuck_.”

“This good?” Harry asks between kisses under his jaw.

“Very,” Louis laughs lightly, his grip in Harry’s hair going tighter. “Oh, God.”

Louis gently grinds on his lap while Harry uses two hands to lift his arse in time, the pair of them huffing shaky breaths into each kiss.

“So good, Lou,” Harry groans sweetly, in a voice Louis hasn’t heard before. His head falls forward, fingers digging in the meat of Louis’s arse. “Feels so good.”

Louis has never felt like anything this before in his whole life. His dick is pulsing and feels so heavy, straining against the inner seam of his trousers, begging to be touched. He can feel Harry underneath him too, hard and long against his arse.

 _“Hot,”_ Louis says tightly, “ _Harry,_ I’m - it’s - ‘m really hot.”

Harry grunts in agreement, and pulls away from Louis only to reach between his shoulder blades and take his shirt off in one fluid movement, tossing it to the side. Harry then tugs on the edge of Louis’s jumper, and Louis wordlessly lifts his arms as Harry pulls it over his head, flinging it across the room to join his own discarded clothing.

Louis sighs, his palms flattening on Harry’s bare biceps, smoothing along the skin there, across broad shoulders. “Wow.”

Harry smiles, crookedly, his chest still heaving and hair disheveled. “Wow?”

“Ignore me. I’m just… appreciative. Of this. All of this.” Louis shakes his head, laughing, and pulls Harry back to his mouth.

It feels a bit filthy this time, the way Louis uses Harry’s shoulders as leverage to roll his hips down more firmly, choking on a gasp at the _pressure,_ the aching relief it provides him. Skin on skin, he wastes no more time, pressing as close as he possibly can, grinding his hips forward.

Louis lets out another whimpered, shuddering breath, and then their lips are just hovering together, brushing every few moments as they rut and pull and push against each other desperately.

“Please,” Louis says, though he doesn’t know what he’s asking for — Harry seems to know, pulling back to scan Louis’s face. His green eyes are dazed and hazy, but clear with intention. “ _More_.”

Harry swallows, “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Harry nods tightly, securing his arms back around Louis’s frame. “Hold on.”

“What’re you—“

In one swift motion, Harry flips Louis onto his back, gently laying his head down on the couch.

“Much better,” he murmurs, running his hand up Louis’s thigh, settling on his hip. His hair hangs like a curtain around his face, the curls loosened with all the movement. He leans down, staring at Louis like he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Louis still hasn’t managed to catch his breath when Harry seals their lips together messily, but it’s more than alright — it’s random presses and slips of tongue, sucking on bottom lips, fingers grasping in hair.

“Holy fuck,” Harry gasps, sucking in a sharp breath. He moves his head to burrow into Louis’s neck, his hips finding a steady rhythm. “ _Fuck_ , baby.”

The name sends a fresh wave of arousal searing through Louis’s body, his face absolutely beaming with warmth, because he _likes it._ It’s terrifying, how much he likes it, how badly he wants _more_.

“Say that again,” Louis whispers, choosing to ignore how much it sounds like begging. “Say it again.”

“ _Baby_ ,” Harry whispers. It sounds just as pretty coming out his mouth as the first time, maybe even better with his shuddered breath fanning on Louis’s lips. “Feel so fucking good, baby.”

Louis keens. “Oh my _god_.”

“Still want more?”

“Please,” Louis nods, desperately, feeling like he might die if he leaves this tower tonight without knowing how it feels to have Harry touch him.

That’s all the reassurance Harry needs. He reaches between their bodies, his featherlight touch skimming down Louis’s chest until it comes to the band of his trousers. He glances up at Louis again, asking for permission without ever opening his mouth.

Louis bites his bottom lip and nods.

Harry works fast, unbuttoning and unzipping with a quick precision that doesn’t allow time for Louis to process anything. The fact that he’s here, with Harry, and everything, _everything_ feels so good.

Suddenly his trousers are pushed down around his knees, and Harry’s got a hand down his pants; when he finally wraps his fingers around Louis’s dick, every nerve in his body ignites.

Every sense feels heightened, every sigh and breath and movement magnified times a million. There’s fire burning in his veins and electricity crackling in his bones, and it’s the most intimate thing he’s ever experienced in his life.

Harry gives him an easy tug, his fist twisting just as he reaches the tip of his cock. Louis gasps, his ankles locking together behind Harry’s back.

Harry’s thumb brushes softly across his head, and Louis sees stars.

“ _Harry,”_ he chokes out, his hips rocking upwards to meet Harry’s hand, stuttered and twitching. “ _F-fuck_ ,"

“You’re so wet,” Harry’s mouth is dropped open in quiet awe, still rubbing at the tip of Louis’s cock. He spreads the blurts of precome down his shaft, his palm wrapping fully around him again to stroke in a quick rhythm. He puts his mouth back at that same spot under Louis’s ear, and sucks hard _._ “Fucking hell, Lou.”

There’s something sublime buzzing under Louis’s skin; he wonders how this can feel so _different_ to touching himself, how this can feel like so much like a volcano on the verge of erupting. It’s still a hand on his cock like always, but it’s _Harry_ , who’s whimpering the most beautiful noises and smiling this smile softly into Louis’s mouth like he’s doing something completely innocent.

Harry’s got himself straddled over Louis’s thigh, rutting forward every few seconds, grinding onto Louis’s leg in the same time as his strokes. Harry starts to pull his cock even faster, and Louis bucks up, huffing out a harsh breath against Harry’s neck.

“Feel good?” Harry asks, kissing him — their lips come apart, still brushing together. “Tell me, Lou.”

“Yeah,” is all Louis can manage, because his toes have started curling, the growing fire in his stomach has his abs jumping, and his eyes are rolling back to the ceiling. “I-I’m close.”

“I’ve got you,” Harry whispers, nibbling onto Louis’s bottom lip, and that’s it for him.

He tightly grips the back of Harry’s hair, pulling him closer until their foreheads are pressed together, panting breathy moans right into Harry’s mouth.

 _“_ Harry _— fuck,”_

Stars explode behind Louis’s eyes, and he comes with a choked off, throaty gasp, his head falling back against the velvet cushions.

They stay like that, breathing heavily for so long, Louis’s heart thundering so violently in his chest, like it’s going to completely fall out of his body. 

After a few quiet moments, Harry leans over to fumble blindly for his sweatshirt, and his wand somewhere in the mess. He points it between the pair of them, and casts a quiet, " _Scourgify."_

Once they're cleaned up, Harry’s head goes to lay his head across Louis's torso, their breathing syncing together.Louis lets his hands wander back to Harry’s wild hair, his fingers gently scratching at his scalp. Harry groans, burying his face further into Louis’s stomach.

“That feels good,” Harry mumbles, the sound muffled by Louis’s skin; Louis chuckles, the movement bouncing Harry’s head. “Don’t stop.”

“Yes sir,” Louis smiles fondly.

The wind has started to bring a slight chill through the Astronomy Tower, but Harry’s keeping him warm enough, and he would’t want to alter this moment regardless. Cloud nine has nothing on the pleasant buzzing that’s radiating through Louis’s whole body.

Louis stares at the ceiling, which is really just the dazzling night sky, and sighs. It’s a happy sigh, a contented sigh, but Harry looks up at him quizzically. He rests his chins on his hands, and peers up at Louis through his lashes.

“You alright?”

“Of course,” Louis says, and his tone must satisfy Harry, because he goes right back to nuzzling into Louis’s stomach. Harry’s hands wander up Louis’s side, tracing small circles in his skin. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Go for it,” Harry nods, his left arm wrapping tighter around Louis’s waist.

“You’ve done this before.”

Harry snorts. “Is that a question?”

“Harry.”

“Alright, alright,” Harry concedes. His voice is much softer when he says, “I’ve never — I haven’t — not with another lad, no.”

“Okay…” Louis nods. “Okay.”

“Was that your question?”

“Well,” Louis sighs. “No.”

“So ask your question, before you burst.”

“Is it always like this?” Louis blurts, before he can convince himself not to ask such a ridiculous question. “Is it always so — does it always feel like that just did?”

Harry’s hand goes still, and Louis knows he’s just shattered their blissful moment.

“I’ve never done anything like that before,” Louis explains, laughing a bit at himself. “And it just felt so fucking good, Harry, _so,_ so good, and - and _right_. I just - I’m only wondering if it’s normal that it felt like that. That _right._ Is it like that with everyone, or just us? _”_

Harry pauses, and then he shifts to sit up fully. Louis does too, leaning his back against the arm rest of the sofa.

“Sorry, that was a stupid question. Of course sex feels good, that’s the entire point of it. I’m an idiot.”

“C’mere.” Harry chuckles. He sits back on his haunches, tilting his head at Louis. He pulls Louis forward by the arm, onto his knees, to meet him halfway and let their lips meet. Their mouths slide together languidly, sweetly, and Louis melts into it.

Harry draws back, his thumb stroking Louis’s cheeks.

“No,” Harry whispers. “It isn’t like this with everyone.”

“It’s not?”

Harry shakes his head. “Not even close.”

"Okay." Louis doesn't ask for any more explanation, it's all he needs. They lay back on the couch together, this time with Louis's head on Harry's chest. He examines Harry's face, at his swollen lips, his wildly-mussed up hair; he feels an odd surge of pride swell up in him that _he_ got to be the cause of it all. 

"What do we do now?" Louis asks, and at that exact moment, Harry's stomach lets out a loud, garbled noise. Louis laughs. "What the hell was _that?"_

Harry flushes deeply, his face going pink. "Sorry, I skipped dinner."

Louis sits up. "You're hungry?"

"A bit."

Louis grins, like someone who's just found the answer to a riddle. "I have someone who can help with that."

•◈•


End file.
